


you're the silver lining

by waunderings



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, F/M, also fashion magazines, kind of, this is a funny face au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:57:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waunderings/pseuds/waunderings
Summary: Betty is two blocks away by the time she remembers her promise to Veronica to keep an eye out for something revolutionary. She wonders, briefly, how Veronica feels about leather jackets.--or, Betty is tasked with finding the new face of the fashion industry and Jughead just wants to finish his book.or, the Funny Face-inspired AU that literally no one asked for but I wanted because of selfish reasons





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written a fic before in my life, but here we are.
> 
>  
> 
> i'm on tumblr at waunderwrites.tumblr.com if you want to commiserate about these two fools with me~

Veronica Lodge was bored. Betty can tell by the way she's flicking her gaze carelessly across the spreads being presented in front of her. None of the images are catching her interest, and if there’s one thing Betty has learned from the past four years of working for Veronica, it’s that when she’s bored, she’s unpredictable. Betty has an uneasy feeling as another secretary presents a photograph that looks oh-too-similar to the previous six or seven they’ve all seen. Finally, Veronica slams her hand on the table.

“This is drab. All of this, utterly drab.” She said, her tone measured despite her displeasure, her gaze trained evenly upwards. Betty sits up straight as the workers around the table widen their eyes in fear, clearing her throat.

“What Veronica means is that none of what you’re showing us is very…” She glances at the dark-haired girl next to her, who’s still looking listlessly at the ceiling, “Revolutionary.” She says, finally. Veronica snaps her eyes back to meet her gaze, and nods slightly.

“Yes. _Yes_. Exactly, Betty, thank you. None of this is revolutionary. None of this is new. If we want _Quality_ to keep up with any of the big names in fashion, we need to change the game. I’m tired of playing catch-up to Vogue and GQ. I want them chasing my heels, for once.” Veronica’s smile only grew as she continued speaking, and Betty sighs as she realizes that, perhaps, she just unleashed a beast. The others in the conference room seem to share her hesitation, but no one voices their concern to Veronica, who stands suddenly. “Think on it, and bring me something new tomorrow, please. That’ll be all.” Immediately, the workers stand and move to exit the conference room, leaving Betty alone with a newly-emboldened Veronica.

“V, you should really work on your approach to editorial pitches.” She says, but Veronica just scoffs.

“If they’re not afraid of me, they have no incentive to perfect their work before showing me.” She says, shrugging. “Anyways, I’m fairly certain they won’t be able to find what I’m looking for, I just wanted them to get out.”

“What’s your plan this time?” She asks, turning in her chair to face her friend head-on. It’s always best, she’s discovered, to find out Veronica’s full plan ahead of time, so one can assess the need for damage control early.

Her friend shrugged, slightly, but turned to face her fully anyways. “Not much of one, just the beginnings. I want to put you in charge of finding me my revolution, B.” Her smile was sugar sweet, but Betty raised an eyebrow.

“How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

“You’re my top contributor! _And_ my best friend. You’ll find something, I know you will.”

“I don’t know, V, maybe you should let your fashion editors-” Betty’s arguments were cut short with a steely look from Veronica.

“My fashion editors are great, but you’re the one with the vision. I don’t want something carefully curated by years of fashion training, I want something raw. No pressure, but just keep an eye out, at least, okay? Please, B? I really want _Quality_ to be competitive and right now it’s just… mediocre.” Veronica’s mouth twists with distaste at the word, and Betty has to stifle a laugh. She’s not convinced Veronica has ever done anything mediocre in her life.

“I’ll… look around, I guess. But I’m not promising anything!” Her friend ignores the warning, and pulls Betty into a tight hug before she even finishes the sentence. “Why do I always let you rope me into this?”

  
-

  
-

  
-

 

 

Betty’s work days were light since she started working for Veronica. She edited stories as they came through and recommended spreads, both of which she enjoyed, but didn’t feel particularly challenged by. Most times, Betty shut down those thoughts before they even began. She knew she was lucky, really. She met Veronica her freshman year at Columbia, and when Veronica had taken over Quality from her father’s company she immediately offered Betty a job. Betty had refused at first, choosing to work an entry level job as a copy editor for a small online publication, but after a year of correcting typos on articles about gas prices, she accepted a position with Veronica. She also knew that Veronica had given her a job she wasn’t totally qualified for. Her journalism degree had prepared her, sure, but with just one year of work experience, she should definitely not be presiding over the goings-on of a major fashion editorial. So, yes, she knew she was lucky- privileged, even.

 _But_ , sometimes she really couldn’t stop the voice in her head. _But you’re still not doing what you love_ , it said. _But you’re still just a little bit unhappy._ The problem was that Betty started college with a lot of goals, and though she knew that everyone’s life looked differently than they planned it at 18, hers was still something of a let down. She wanted to be writing stories that made an impact on somebody-- _anybody_ , really. She couldn’t help but feel the work she did now was just as menial as working for the blog had been. In the grand scheme of life, did edits on articles about whether or not fringe was making a comeback really leave a meaningful impression? Stepping out of the lobby of Quality’s midtown headquarters, Betty allowed herself to relish in her own pity for the three blocks that it took her to walk to the 42nd Street station, before shaking her head and making her way to the E train. She had a job using skills she had worked hard for, she had a best friend who believed in her enough to give her an absurd amount of creative freedom, and she had an apartment with a full kitchen which, she knew, was a rarity in New York. _Plus_ , she thought to herself with a smile, _it was Friday_.

Fridays, for Betty, were special. They were days where she allowed herself to do one thing- anything- just for herself. Usually, this meant watching an old movie on her laptop eating takeout. Sometimes it meant a new pair of shoes, and even more rarely it meant an afternoon trip to the Met. She started this practice in college, after her therapist suggested it as a method to regain control over her life. She didn’t meet with a therapist anymore, but she kept the practice going as many Fridays as she could. Today, she was getting off a stop early from the G, heading to a little book store that Kevin had texted her about excitedly the weekend before. Greenpoint Ave was bustling when she made it to street level, and Betty couldn’t help the small sigh that left her as she saw the banks and major retailers lining the street. She knew she couldn’t be the one to cry gentrification, when she was definitely an actor in it, but it was still sad to see so many of her favorite local businesses closed down in favor of three-story Duane Reade’s. She turned the corner, finding the intersection of Leonard and Calyer easily, and looking carefully for the staircase Kevin had described. It was painted bright yellow, with a small iron sign hanging from the railing.

 _The Book Loft_. She smiled softly. It was places like these that kept her in Brooklyn, despite the significant pay increase that working for Veronica had brought. She just couldn’t tear herself away from the hole-in-the-wall local haunts, no matter how nice it would be to live somewhere with an elevator. There was a dull _ding_ of a small bell when she pushed the door open, but no other greeting when she entered. Her breath caught as she gazed at the bookcases surrounding her. They were lining every wall, as far as she could see, with some in the middle creating a somewhat chaotic maze. To her left was a check out desk that remained empty, and to her right was an iron staircase, leading to what she presumed was a storeroom. No one seemed to be up there, so she trained her gaze, instead, on the books. They were organized meticulously, she noted, not only by author and genre, but by subgenre and theme.

Betty lost track of how long she spent gazing at book titles, she pulled a few first editions out to admire, careful to replace them where she found them. She had just reached the shelf for Caper Mysteries when a voice came from behind her, making her heart stop for a moment.  
  
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” When she jumped, the voice swore, “Fuck, sorry. I thought you heard me walk up behind you.” Betty quickly turned to see a man leaning against a bookshelf, his hands stuffed in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face.

“Oh! Hi!” She said, unable to stop herself. The man raised an eyebrow in clear amusement.

“Hi.” He replied, and Betty blushed. Her eyes were drawn to the cool blue of his own, and she stood there for a moment, unable to think of anything else to say and fully engaged in taking note of his admittedly attractive appearance. He was wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, a dark flannel peeking through, and the image was completed with a mop of dark hair. There was a funny sort of hat placed on top of his head, well-worn but still in good condition. She thought it looked a bit like a crown. _It suits him_ , she thought, though she didn’t know where that came from. His eyes had narrowed, and she realized belatedly that she had probably been staring too long.

“Sorry. I was just looking. At the books, I mean!” She added quickly, willing her face to keep from flushing even further. He hesitated for a moment, almost as if he didn’t believe her, but nodded slowly.

“Sure, take your time. We close in an hour, but there’s no rush. I’ll be at the front if you have any questions.” He said, giving her one last glance of confusion before turning out of the aisle. Betty let out a breath, but turned back to the books in question. She actually had been hoping to buy one, and clearly she could use a re-do on that interaction. After perusing the shelf for a few more minutes, she gathered her selections and headed to the desk, where the man was now seated. He had a typewriter in front of him, and his brow was furrowed as he typed carefully, eyes scanning the words diligently. She cleared her throat slightly before approaching, and he glanced up.

“Find everything alright?” He asked, standing as she placed her book on the counter. He looked down, and smiled smally. “ _The Switch_ ,” he said, approvingly, “have you read it before?”  
  
“No, but I’m a big fan of _Rum Punch_.” She said, and he nodded while placing the book carefully in a bag.  
  
“This one’s pretty weird, but if you like _Rum Punch_ I can’t imagine you’ll be disappointed. Anything else I can help you with?” He asked, and though Betty imagined that he likely asked this to every customer, she thought he actually meant it.

“Actually, yes. I’ve been looking for a first edition of _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ , I don’t know if you…” She trailed off, smiling at him as his face lit up. “Is that a yes?” She asked hopefully, and he laughed.  
  
“Not quite. We don’t have any right now, but we should get another set soon. Poe’s obviously a pretty popular one, so the first editions go pretty quickly. I can set one aside for you, though, if you want.” He offered.  
  
“Would you? That would be incredible.” He nodded, and Betty watched as a lone curl escaped from under his beanie, falling into his eyes. He didn’t seem to mind, instead reaching under the desk to pull out a card and hand it to her.  
  
“Not a problem, just fill this out and I can let you know as soon as I come across one.” He handed her a pen, and she quickly filled in her information before handing it back over. “I’m Jughead, by the way. Jughead Jones.” He says, and she smiles, before glancing back again. His grin is back, like he expected her double take. “Nickname.” Is all he says, with a small shrug.

“Betty Cooper. Betty is also a nickname.” She said, brightly, and Jughead smirked slightly.

“I’ll give you a call, Betty Cooper.” He said, waiting as she signs her receipt. Betty tries very hard not to bite her lip at the sound of those words, and he seems to notice their double meaning quickly. “Oh, erm. About the Poe.” He tacks on, and she laughs.

“I’ll be back.” She says, and he raises his eyebrows, but smiles nonetheless. “It was nice to meet you, Jughead Jones.”

 

Betty is two blocks away by the time she remembers her promise to Veronica to keep an eye out for something revolutionary. She wonders, briefly, how Veronica feels about leather jackets.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a million and one years to update!! it's mostly because of finals but also because of my general nature. my bad. i'll try to get better.
> 
>  
> 
> also thank you for your comments!!! you're all lovely!!!

Jughead’s Monday started just like every other Monday. He woke up, ate the leftovers from Sweet Pea’s late-night pizza order, and headed out to his class. He was into the final weeks of his MFA program, and though he wasn’t really pleased about the fact that the once-a-week class met at 8 in the morning, especially when he had to commute from Brooklyn all the way over to lower Manhattan, he was so closed to finishing that he couldn’t be bothered to feel anything more than the slightest tinge of annoyance. Besides he almost enjoyed the morning commute—not that he would admit that to anyone, of course, but there was something about the crowds of workers cramming themselves into the subway cars that fascinated him. There was always someone to watch, some new character just waiting to be written. Many of his short stories for class had been inspired by a detail noticed on a commuter.

Jughead found himself willingly agreeing to meeting with his quasi-study group after class had ended, the five of them making their way to a little coffee shop in the East Village where one of the girls, Nancy, worked part-time. Though their class wasn’t exam-based, their final portfolio’s were looming and over the course of both his time as an undergrad and his time in his Master’s program Jughead had come to recognize the true worth of peer edits. The story he sent the group was a newer one, and a bit different from his usual world-observance style. For the final three stories of the year, he had decided to write more personal essays exploring facets of loss. Though the story felt personal to him, Jughead knew that the members of his group were so well-versed in exaggerating the truth that they would hardly comment on the content of the story, focusing instead on the technical aspects. They had a system to reading each others work by now, switching between people each week, so he read Maria’s short story—a dark comedy on the afterlife—while handing his own over to Trula for edits. As expected, Trula said virtually nothing about the content of his story, but did point out a few tricky transitions and repetitious areas for him to go over. She smiled at him as they all packed up, though.

“Nice one, Jones. Definitely a departure from the fly-on-the-wall style that we all know you for, I’m impressed.” That was all she said, and though Jughead couldn’t honestly care less about what Trula Twyst thought of his writing style, it was pleasing to hear that the change he had been so apprehensive of was working in his favor.

  
So, as he hopped back on the subway to get to the Book Loft on time for his shift, he walked with a little bit of a lighter step.

  
-

-

-

 

Toni was lounging behind the desk when Jughead walked in, but she clambered to his feet as he dropped his bag on the counter.

“Long morning?” She asked, brushing a strand of hot pink hair out of her eyes.

“Not too bad,” he shrugged, “just have a lot more to do before my portfolio is due in three weeks.”

“Graduation is soon, though, isn’t it?” Toni asked, and Jughead smiled a little bit at her.

Toni, Fangs, and Sweet Pea had been his friends-turned-family for almost the entirety of his life. Thrown together in South Brooklyn, they’d come to depend on each other for pretty much anything. It was rare for kids from their neighborhood to finish high school, let alone pursue any sort of higher education, but against all odds the four them managed to not only graduate with their high school diplomas but also take the next steps in ‘career paths’- Fangs finished culinary school and was working at a fancy restaurant on the newly-gentrified Greenpoint Ave, but Jughead knew that he was drawing up plans for his own food truck. Sweet Pea had taken an apprenticeship at the autoshop, and after greasing up his hands for four years had finally started a part-time engineering program at the local community college. Toni had gone with Jughead for undergrad, studying photojournalism, and their shared interest in the arts had always kept them closer than he was with the other two, he thought.

“Yeah, just a month away. Then I’ll be granted a fresh new Master’s of Fine Arts degree.” Jughead raised his eyebrows as he said it, and laughed when Toni snorted.

“Sounds just as pretentious as you, Jones.”

“A match made in heaven. Headed to the warehouse?” He asked, as Toni grabbed her back from the corner.

Toni had been staking out a warehouse by the Navy Yard, going there more evenings than not, that she suspected as being a mob-front. Sometimes one of the boys would go along with her, but Jughead knew that was mostly for their own peace of mind. If it came down to it he had no doubt that Toni would be the one throwing punches to protect him, and not the other way around.

“Yeah, the _Journal_ is pressuring me to abandon ship but I just know something’s going down there. It’s only a matter of time before they slip up.”

“And when they do, you’ll be there.” He finished for her, and she smiled.

“Got it in one. Hey, before I leave, Jenkins called today about a first edition that I guess you requested. Left the note on the pad.”

Jughead’s eyes snapped to attention, and he nodded quickly. “Yeah, okay, great. Uh, thanks.” If Toni noticed the way blood had started rushing to his face, she didn’t comment on it. It was moments like these that Jughead was thankful that almost every one of his social interactions was awkward. This, he thought, was no more than the usual.

Jughead called Jenkins back to discover that not only did he have the copy of _The Murders in the Rue Morgue_ that had been requested, but he finally had several other books that customers had inquired about. The Book Loft was, undoubtedly, Jughead’s favorite place on Earth. He had started working here in high school, when the neighborhood was a little rougher and he was a little angrier, and it had since become a sort of haven for him. He got Toni a job here a few years ago, because being a photojournalist didn’t pay as well as she had imagined when she was a child, and Fangs and Sweet Pea spent more time here than at their own apartments. It was almost always quiet—never more than three or four customers at a time, and even that was uncommon. Still, they made enough off of first editions and rare book sales to keep the running, and since the owner of the place had moved up to Syracuse, Jughead had taken over most of the management. It was his ideal job—room to write on the job, an excuse to read and re-read all of his favorite books, and sometimes— _sometimes_ —the customers ask for his suggestions.

The customers were, Jughead thought, typically the one downside of working there. They were usually obnoxious, arrogant, ignorant, or a charming combination of all three. They ruined his careful organization with zero hesitation, and the worst ones talked on the phone as they slid their grubby hands all over the spines on the shelves. So, they customers were the worst part, with very rare exceptions.

As Jughead looked down at the customer card in his hand, he wondered if she would be another exception.

Betty Cooper  
917-546-7878  
First Edition- Murders in the Rue Morgue

She answered after three rings, a question in her voice as she said, clearly, “ _Betty Cooper, Quality Magazine._ ” For a moment, it threw him. He hadn’t talked to Betty much—other than startling her and making awkward (and _unintentional_ , he swears) innuendos, but he hadn’t expected her to work at _Quality Magazine_. He was surprised to find that it disappointed him. _At least it wasn’t Vogue_ , he found himself thinking.

  
“Erm, this is Jughead from The Book Loft.”

  
“ _Oh! Of course! Does this mean you found a copy?_ ” She sounded a little breathless, but Jughead could hear the murmur of workers around her.

  
“Uh, yeah, I found one. It’ll be in store by Wednesday, but I can only keep it on hold for you for a week before putting it on shelf.”

  
“ _That’s wonderful. I can come by on Friday again, if that works_?”

  
“Yeah, we’re open until 9 every evening, so just- come whenever.” He said, though the way she phrased it had caught him off guard. _If that works_ —as if she were hesitant to inconvenience him.

  
 _Yes_ , he thought, _she’s definitely an exception_.

 

-

  
-

-

 

The next few hours passed with, thankfully, very limited customer interaction. He had just finished another page of his short story for next week’s class when the rusty bell gave a ding, and the door opened. He glanced up, willing himself to give the obligatory greeting, only to be faced with Betty. She was glancing around, looking a little guilty, but turned to make eye contact with him.

  
“Oh, I’m so sorry about this.” She said, worrying her lip between her teeth, and before he could ask _what_ , the door opened again.

A woman in a black dress and a string of pearls marched in, followed by what he would estimate as somewhere between eight and ten-thousand other people. She had cat-eye glasses, and though she was the same height as Betty, he could see strappy black heels giving her the boost. She looked like a scarier Holly Golightly, he thought dimly, as people bustled in, carrying cameras and lights and what looked like opaque white umbrellas. They spread out across the store, all talking at the same time, moving piles of books like they were an annoyance.

  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked, glaring over to where the dark-haired woman was standing with Betty, who had twisted her face up like she was in pain.

  
“I’m so sorry, Jughead, I didn’t think it would happen like this today, I just mentioned the Loft on a whim, and Veronica said she wanted to come and see it, I didn’t know that she meant to bring the whole army over.” Betty ran over to the counter, and shot a look back at who Jughead could only assume was Veronica. For her part, Veronica merely shrugged.

  
“Well the way you described it made it seem like the perfect backdrop.” She strode a few feet further in, and Jughead scoffed as he rounded the corner of the counter.

  
“It’s not a _backdrop_ , it’s a _place of business_. So if you wouldn’t mind leaving…” He gestured towards the door, but Veronica simply raised an eyebrow before walking over to where her minions had set up a photo shoot. The model was now donning wire-frames, a sickly looking boy wearing a sweater the Jughead knew to be purposefully distressed. Betty came up to his side, and hesitated.

  
“I promise she’ll be done in just a few minutes. She wants test shots, I think.” She said, carefully, but Jughead couldn’t stop his glare.

  
“Yeah, she can be done now. This has got to be illegal.” He said, gesturing around as another worker started to move a bookcase. “Get out.” He yelled, making himself louder, and glaring around with the look he’d perfected in one-too-many street fights with the rival neighborhood.

  
“Jughead, please, you’ll just make it worse.” Betty said, reaching out to tug his arm down from where he was pointing angrily towards the hordes. He pulled back from her grasp roughly, ignoring her.

  
“I swear to god, if you don’t get this whole operation out of my store in the next thirty seconds I will kick your ass to Sunday, starting with him.” He pointed to the waify model, whose eyes widened and face turned, somehow, even more pale. Veronica squared her face, but gestured to her workers to pack up. Quietly, they all picked up the equipment they came in with, shuffling out the door.

  
“I could’ve put your dingy little store on the map, Mr. Jones, you should’ve been thanking me.” She said breezily as she walked past.

  
Jughead scoffed, and glanced over at Betty, who looked so conflicted he almost felt a little bad for her.

  
“The day that I invite your capitalist propaganda into this store willingly is the day that hell freezes over.” Is all he said.

  
The rest of the workers left, and Jughead turned around to survey the damage. All in all, though the intrusion had felt like a tornado, the damage could have been a lot worse. A few bookshelves were out of place, and the organization of the Philosophical Fiction was in absolute disarray, but nothing was visibly broken.

  
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Jughead.” Betty’s voice came from behind him, and he looked over to see her walking towards him. “I really, _really_ am. I’ll help you reorganize.” She started over to one of the bookcases, picking up a few stray books from the floor before searching the shelves for the proper placement.

  
“It’s not necessary, Betty. I’d rather just do it myself.” Jughead sighed, and took off his hat to run a hand fully through his hair. He tucked it in his back pocket before squatting down and picking up the remaining stacks of books.

  
“No, honestly, this is all my fault. Just, please let me?”

  
He didn’t respond, but she seemed to take that as a yes, and they worked in silence to reshelf the books before moving the bookcases back to the right place.

  
“Mind explaining to me what, exactly, happened?” He asked, finally, as they put the last bookcase back. She groaned a little, and tugged her hair out of the tight ponytail. She had been wearing the ponytail last week, too, he remembered, but as her hair curled down he couldn’t imagine why.

  
“God, it was my fault, like I said. Veronica’s been on this kick about finding something new and exciting, she wants to beat out the competition for trends this year, and somehow she got it in her mind that I was the right one to find it. Anyway, I really didn’t have anything to pitch her except I just loved your store when I came in last week, so I mentioned something about it—just to use it as inspiration, I swear. I had no idea she would come all this way and invade your space without even asking.” Betty looked- _appropriately_ , he thought- appalled at the idea, and gave a small shudder. “Honestly, she’s my best friend, but sometimes it’s so obvious that she never had to work before becoming the boss. I can’t even imagine how you feel, I’m _so_ sorry.”

  
Jughead had never thought of himself as a very forgiving person, by nature. He was stubborn and loyal, both of which combined to feed long-term grudges and deep rivalries. Maybe it was the earnest tone of her words, maybe it was the sincerity in her eyes— _or maybe it’s just her eyes_ , he thought—but he found himself shrugging.

  
“No harm done.” He said, and Betty smiled brightly.

 

.

 


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand apologies once more for the delayed update. even without finals i am apparently the laziest human to exist? 
> 
> oh well!! enjoy chapter three friends!!

Marching directly into Veronica’s office, Betty threw her bag on the chair facing the desk and stood with her hands on her hips in what she hoped was a confrontational position. She leveled Veronica with her best glare, and waited. Veronica, who had put down the proofs she was running through upon Betty’s arrival, sat quietly and looked back at Betty with distinct apathy.

 

“Something to say, B?” She arched an eyebrow over the rim of her glasses, and Betty willed herself not to yell in anger.

 

“You ransacked Jughead’s store yesterday, V, you just marched right in and took over without even _asking_.”

 

Veronica’s face remained unaffected, but she lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Yes, I did. This is a business, Betty, and sometimes we have to take the things that we want. Daddy always says it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.” She gave Betty a cursory glance, before smirking slightly. “You’re welcome for the excuse to stay late and clean up the store, though.”

 

Betty ignored both Veronica’s insinuation and the wink that accompanied it. If she weren’t so tired from staying at the Loft, she would have at least _tried_ to fight back a little bit more. As it was, she gave a sigh and collapsed into the armchair across from Veronica. “Just so you know, I am absolutely _never_ pitching you _anything_ about _anywhere_ that I remotely enjoy _ever_ again.”

 

Veronica rolled her eyes, but held her hands up in mock surrender at the return of Betty’s glare. “Oh, alright. I’m _sorry_. I didn’t realize that taking a few pictures would cause such a fuss. It was useless, anyways, none of them are what I’m looking for.” She tosses the proofs onto the desk, and Betty glances down at them. For the most part, Veronica is right. The Loft makes an amazing backdrop, but the model isn’t dynamic enough to command attention away from the books. He looks bland and uninterested in the early shots, and terrified in the later ones—when Betty knows was when Jughead was threatening the whole crew.

She, herself, had been a little scared in that moment. Jughead had been extraordinarily easy-going in her (admittedly few) interactions with him, but the anger that had exuded him had lit up so quickly, and she couldn’t help but admire his easy confidence. Later, when everyone had gone, she thinks she was able to work her way back into his good graces. She found herself unwilling to be anywhere else in his opinion.

 

“Wait, go back.” Veronica’s voice came, and Betty became aware that her friend had circled the desk and was peering over her shoulder as she flicked through the shots. “There.” She pointed one manicured finger at the edge of the photo in Betty’s hands.

 

It was Jughead, looking every bit as angry as he had sounded, his eyes narrowed and his hand outstretched. The overall effect of his raw frustration and the dark-flannel-with-leather-jacket combination was, in all honesty, menacing. Betty let out a breath. Veronica reached forward, and picked the picture up from her hands.

 

“Oh, B. I hope you charmed Mr. Doom and Gloom back into the palm of your hand because I have the most _incredible_ idea for next month’s issue.” Veronica’s eyes stayed glued to the picture, and a smile formed on her face as she walked back to her side of the desk. The look on her face told Betty that whatever she was thinking was absolutely great for the magazine—but probably less great for Betty’s state of mind.

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

 

The days following her conversation with Veronica kept Betty on edge. Veronica’s plan for the magazine was, as expected, ingenious. It was also, expectedly, a thorn in Betty’s side. The image of Jughead looking righteously angry had now been blown up and was sitting proudly in the middle of the conference room. Surrounding it were sketches and swatches and think piece ideas that were actually stimulating, and Betty was having a hard time remembering that Jughead had not agreed to this. She knew that he didn’t spare much thought for fashion magazines—or fashion in general, probably—and while usually she was the same, she couldn’t help but feel the tingle of excitement when Veronica asked her to think about a community outreach project to accompany the main shoot.

 

(Again, the shoot that had not, and would probably never happen.)

 

It’s just, she had spent _so long_ feeling so disillusioned with her work at _Quality_ and now Veronica had finally found a project more thoughtful and introspective than she could’ve dreamed up herself. The photo of Jughead had gotten Veronica interested in _anger_ in fashion—and not in the stereotypical _leather worn twelve different ways and studded belts on every outfit_ kind of way, but in an _origins of fashion_ kind of way, or so she explained to the department heads that morning. Everyone had seemed excited about the prospect of this new avenue for the magazine, and when Betty had brought up (once more) that Jughead hadn’t agreed to be the face of her new campaign she had been on the receiving end of glares from the majority of the room. For her part, Veronica had simply smirked.

_“Oh, B, I thought I’d leave the convincing up to you.”_

 

Her words play back in Betty’s mind as she sits on the subway, nervously clicking her heel. Fridays were supposed to be _her_ days, but today was ruined by Veronica’s impossible task and her own weighty guilt at actually wanting Jughead to agree.

 

After Veronica had initially proposed the idea, Betty had immediately suggested finding a different model to portray the look. She spent hours pouring through agency books, but in the end she conceded to Veronica’s pointed statement that “ _No one can learn that kind of anger, B.”_ Because of course she was right. Jughead’s expression was magnetic purely because of it’s authenticity. Everything about him screamed his story—from the strange hat, the rough leather jacket, the combat boots, the near-permanent scowl. He wasn’t hiding his pain, he was putting it on a loudspeaker. Maybe that’s what scared Betty most. She had never been able to accomplish the same thing- the same level of security within herself.

 

And so, she lingered on the short walk from the subway station to the Book Loft, trying to put off walking in as long as possible. She stopped in the coffee shop around the corner, picking up a latte for herself and a medium dark roast for Jughead because she really couldn’t imagine he drank anything else. Finally, she climbed the teetering stairs to the store, and used her pack to push the door open as she turned precariously with the coffees.

 

The rusty bell gave a _ding_ and she looked immediately over to the desk for Jughead. Instead, she found a girl with bright pink hair and a leather jacket almost identical to Jughead’s lounging with her feet propped on the counter. The girl lifted an eyebrow when she saw Betty’s look, but turned back to the pages in her hand rather than saying anything. Betty glanced around briefly, but it was difficult to see if Jughead was anywhere past the tall bookcases. She walked over to the counter, and placed her coffees down.

 

“Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Jughead?” Betty bit her lip, and the girl’s face twisted in confusion.

 

“Jones? Why?” She asked, putting down the pages. She looked suspicious. Betty’s teeth broke the skin of her lip.

 

“Oh, um. He has a book for me. And, I had a question.” Betty tries to limit her wince at how juvenile she sounds, but the other girl snorts anyway, seemingly satisfied with the response.

 

“Okay. He’ll be back in a few, just had to take care of something. You can wait.” She said, turning her attention back to whatever she was reading.

  
As a general rule, Betty tried not to judge people too much based on appearances—partly because she knew that her own appearance could easily lend itself to assumptions of her personality that are particularly off base. But the girl in front of her had large earrings, some sort of plaid mini skirt over fishnet tights, and clunky black boots with a heel taller than any shoe she’d ever seen before, and Betty was finding it _very_ hard not to be intimidated. _If only Veronica could see you_ , she thought vaguely, _you’d be featured right alongside Jughead_.

 

Betty sat in a worn armchair that smelled surprisingly clean for ten minutes before the bell gave another _ding_ , and the door is pushed open. It wasn’t Jughead that walked through, but a taller boy with yet another leather jacket, laughing as he sat on the desk in front of the girl. Jughead followed after him, his face much more at ease than it had been the last time Betty had seen him. Even after they had gotten the store back in order, he carried a few stubborn frown lines. He rounded the counter, and the girl handed the papers she had been reading back to him with a smirk.

 

“Best one yet, Jones.” She said, and Betty watched as Jughead rolled his eyes at the comment. He turned his gaze to the papers, seemingly focusing in on whatever notes she had made as the girl turned to the other boy.

 

The three of them looked like they had walked off the set of a 90’s greaser movie, right down to the matching jackets. The taller boy even had his dark hair styled in a way that was reminiscent of Johnny Depp in _Cry Baby_. Betty wondered if he would take that as a compliment, but as she spied a tattoo on his _neck_ , she decided he probably wouldn’t.

 

The girl turned towards her again, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

 

“Oh shit, I almost forgot you were here. You got a visitor, Jug.” She said, nodding her head to where Betty sat on the other side of the store. Betty felt her face flush deeply as Jughead looked up in surprise, meeting her gaze.

 

“Betty!” He said, handing the papers back to Toni. He looked at her for a moment, and Betty knew she was supposed to explain her presence but her throat felt swollen and the inside of her mouth was dry and her brain capacity was now apparently limited to automatic breathing and not much else.

 

The taller boy looked over to her as well, smirking back at Jughead.

 

“Who’s the princess, Jones?” He asked, and Betty’s face felt even warmer, though she hadn’t known that was possible.

 

“My book!” She finally said, getting to her feet. All three of them looked taken aback, but Jughead nodded.

  
“Right, of course. It’s back here, I can ring you up.” He said, reaching down underneath the counter and producing a brown paper package. “Don’t you two have shit to do?” He asked, pointedly looking back to his friends. The girl smirked, but stood up and pushed the other boy off the counter, where he still sat.

  
“I’m going down to the warehouse again, Jug, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” The girl said, and the taller one hummed in agreement.

 

“I’m going with, see you later, Jones.” He called, heading to the door.

 

Taking careful steps, and still holding both coffees, she made her way over to the desk. She held out the dark one for him, ignoring the instinct to groan at his quirked eyebrow.

 

“I brought you coffee.” Her voice lilted at the end, making it sound like more of a question. She cleared her throat, and tried again. “It’s just black, I should have brought sugar or cream just in case but I didn’t think, I’m sorry-”

 

Jughead took the coffee and smiled very slightly.

  
“This is good. Thanks, Betty, you really didn’t have to do this. I think you’ve apologized enough for the circus that was Monday afternoon.”

 

She let out a sigh. “This is more like… a preemptive apology. Or a bribe, whichever way you want to look at it.”

 

Jughead put the coffee down, and looked up at her. Her face must’ve betrayed her wariness, because he looked at her with concern.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

She hesitated again, and _god,_ she had this _all planned out_. She was going to explain the benefits of his participation, the importance of the stories that were accompanying it. She was going to explain just how much good it would do. But instead, she stands there, gaping, still holding what’s left of her vanilla latte and the only reason she can think of is _I really want you to do this_.

 

She shakes her head, takes a breath, counting like her therapist taught her to back in high school. _In, two, three four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight._ She doesn’t look at Jughead directly, even though she can see that he’s placed his palms flat on the table and is leaning a little more in her direction, worried.

 

“I’m going to tell you something. Or, ask you something. And I just need you to listen to everything I have to say before you say anything yourself.” She said, glancing at his face quickly to make sure he nods. When he does, she responds in turn, and takes a bracing sip of the luke-warm latte. “Alright.”

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

Jughead does not take the request as poorly as she thought he would, at first. He laughs early on, clearly thinking Betty was joking with him, but his eyebrows shoot up as she gives him a look to convey her seriousness. After that, he sinks into his chair and waits for her to finish listing off the reasons why this is a Very Good Idea for both him, the bookstore, and the community-at-large. Betty had pitched her fair share of stories in the past few years working in journalism, and she felt her approach was thorough, if a little biased towards the _pros_ over the _cons_. When she finishes, he sits silently for a moment before running his fingers through his hair.

 

“You and Nightmare Golightly want me to be a _cover star_?” He asked, finally.

 

“It’s more than just the cover, but yes, I suppose.” She says, her fingers drumming at her sides. He lets out a huff of air, before standing up.

 

“No, thank you.” He says, reaching towards the package that contained her first edition—Cheryl’s birthday present, and something she had been searching for ages to find. She quickly reaches her arm out to stop him from picking it up, but jolts back as her hand brushes his.

 

“No? Just like that?” He looks up at her, and she flinches as she recognizes the same distaste that had been in his eyes as he reamed out Veronica and her crew was now directed at her.

 

“Just like that. I don’t actually owe you anything, Betty, no matter what Miranda Priestly says. Whatever you and the glam-squad saw in me isn’t new or _revolutionary_ , it was anger and resentment. I’m not the only kid who grew up in a shitty family on a shitty block, so you should have no problem finding some other case of poverty to sensationalize.”

 

His words were bitter, but above all, Betty thought they were tired. They were spoken with such exhaustion, like he’d been fighting his whole life and she was asking all the wrong questions.

 

“Here’s your bill.” He said, sliding a receipt across the desk as he took out a bag to place her book in. She handed him her credit card wordlessly, not daring to look at his face.

 

She wanted to be annoyed that he had dismissed the idea so quickly, that he hadn’t spared a thought for how much effort and preparation she and the whole team had put into it. But everything he said had been _true_. She had told Veronica that herself, if in different words. So instead, she signed for the book, and took the bag from him, careful to avoid contact with his hand.

 

“I don’t want to sensationalize your backstory, Jughead. I’m sorry if I came off that way. I just wanted to write about truth—I wanted to tell a story that actually matters. I thought that maybe you would have something to say. But I shouldn’t have assumed.” She offered him a smile, which he didn’t return, but his eyes did drop some of the fire they had earlier. “Thanks for finding me my book.” She said, and turned towards the door.

 

“Betty.” He said, and she paused, hand still on the handle. She looked back to see him with one hand tugging at his hair, the other holding the coffee cup. He hesitated, then sighed deeply.

 

“Thanks for the coffee.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and a reminder i'm on tumblr (waunderwrites) if you wanna come hang


	4. iv.

 

 

It took exactly fifty seconds for Jughead to regret telling his friends about Betty’s ‘offer’. That was how long it took for him to mutter the words _magazine cover_ and _fashion trends_ , words that felt large and awkward in his mouth. Sweet Pea had immediately roared with laughter, which Jughead had pretty much expected, and even Toni had lost her cool when he had continued on about how Veronica Lodge had hand-picked him for the stupid thing. Fangs was near tears when Jughead finally just hung his head, waiting for their laughter to pass.

 

“Oh my god, Jones. You’re going to be a _supermodel_. Maybe you’ll finally have some game.” Sweet Pea said, taking a deep breath and running both hands through his hair.

 

“Holy shit, Jones is going to be hooking up with models.” Fangs said, in between laughs. Jughead picked up a fry from the table and threw it at him. He caught it in his mouth with a victorious shout, and Sweet Pea reached across for a high-five.

 

“Hey- don’t forget about little old us in your new found fame, okay, Jug? We poor paupers are content to live on the scraps of your celebrity but only if you gift us with your presence every now and again.” Toni added. Jughead rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the snort that escaped him.

 

In truth, he hadn’t had time to laugh at the matter yet. When Betty first confessed the idea, he had been struck with a sort of anger that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was an ugly emotion, anger. Jughead’s anger was often righteous, born out of self-preservation and loyalty, usually sewn together with envy of all kinds. He had laid into her, just a little bit. Really, the things he said to Betty represented only a fraction of the indignation that had flooded his body. After the anger, as so often was the case, came guilt.

 

He didn’t really have anything to feel guilty about on a technical level- he hadn’t blamed Betty for things she didn’t do, or said things to her that were untrue in any way. He hadn’t lashed out to his fullest potential, or intentionally tried to be cruel. Still, there was something about the way her green eyes had grown wide as she let his words sink into her skin, the way he could see her fingers curl into a tight fist, how her lip quivered even as she took a steadying breath before responding to him, that had punched him right in the gut with guilt.

 

“Hey, Jones, think you can score me an introduction to a Victoria’s Secret model? Or two.” Sweet Pea winked, and nudged his arm from where he sat next to him on their dingy couch, and Jughead looked up with a start.

 

“I’m not _doing_ it.” He said, jaw dropping as he realized the other three hadn’t picked up on that yet.

 

“What?” Toni asked, her eyebrows drawing in.

 

“I’m not going to be a fucking _model_. Why would you think I would?”

 

“Because Veronica Lodge is literally made of money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept in pajamas with Ben Franklin’s face on them.” Toni leaned back from her position in the only other chair in the small living room, picking up a handful of fries as she settled in.

 

“Yeah, and she definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of person that someone says no to.” Fangs said, shrugging his shoulder.

 

“Honestly, how the hell do all of you even know who she is?”  
  
“Kevin’s friends with her.” Fangs replied, and then glances back up in shock as his words sink in. “Oh, shit.” He said, pulling out his phone. “No wonder he called me three times earlier, I thought he lost his cufflinks again or something.”

 

Jughead had only met Kevin twice before- once at the community production that he and Fangs had attended in support of Toni and Sweet Pea (who had surprisingly good voices, and were required to join as a form of ‘community service’), where Kevin and Fangs had initially met. The second time was when he had come into the shop to meet up with Fangs, and had engaged Jughead in a lively debate about modern cinema in comparison to classic films. He was energetic and preppy and probably looked like the opposite of someone who would date a guy named _Fangs_. Jughead, however, knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on with regards to the name thing.

 

“Well, whatever. Do it, don’t do it, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Just don’t forget it’s your night to make dinner.” Sweet Pea said. 

 

“Yeah, family dinner waits for no super model.” Toni agreed, the two of them standing up. “In unity there is strength, right?” She winks, and the three boys snort. It had been a long time since they had said those words in any sort of serious capacity—but the truth behind the joke brought out a smile regardless.

 

Jughead liked food. He always had, often wolfing down meals made for two or three in one sitting. With distance and space from his childhood, he could easily identify how the uncertainty of meals he experienced almost daily lent itself to an insatiable hunger. He often catches himself making psychoanalyses of his early childhood, probably due to a mix of writers-introspection and JB’s rants about her psychology program. The dinners with the four of them had been instituted after they had all gotten pulled in different directions and barely had time to see each other for a few weeks at a time. It was a few weeks into Fangs’ new job, and Sweet Pea had just undertaken a new project in his program. It was weekly- every Friday night, and it was non-negotiable. No matter what you were doing, you made it back in time for dinner.

 

“Right, I’m going to get started. Hope you assholes like gnocchi.”

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

Jughead’s weekend passed with little fanfare. He worked at the store for the majority of it, the weather was finally starting to warm up which meant a slightly higher influx of customers. He helped Fangs with his proposal for his food truck. He went to class on Monday and suffered through another study session (it was fruitful, at least, and he managed to finish up another short story and begin the final piece for his portfolio).

 

He was busy, was the point, and he hadn’t thought about _Quality_ Magazine, or Betty Cooper, all weekend. (Except for one night, when he was burning the midnight oil and somehow found himself looking her up, and reading all of her linked articles on the staff page. He doesn’t know how that happened.)

 

On Wednesday, he’s sitting behind the counter of The Book Loft with his typewriter, plugging away at the final draft of his latest piece, when the bell gives a _ding_ and the _clack_ of heels on the concrete floor echo across the room.

 

Heels in Brooklyn are rare, even more so when you take into account the rickety stairs one has to walk up to get to the Loft, so he probably should’ve been less surprised when he looks up to see Veronica Lodge in all her Upper East Side glory.

 

“If you’re here to use the Book Loft as your own personal photography studio, I’m going to have to object. Again.” He says, turning back to his writing, ignoring her scoff as she walks closer to the desk.

 

“I think you know why I’m here.”

 

“Yeah, the cover model thing. I already told Betty no.” She’s tapping her foot, clearly impatient, and when he finally looks up again she’s got her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed.

 

“Yes, Betty mentioned your little dramatic monologue. She’s very torn up about it. I’m not here to try to convince you, or anything.”

 

“So why _are_ you here?” Jughead pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a breath. He would’ve had a second cup of coffee this morning if he knew he was going to have to deal with the Wicked Witch of the Upper East Side.

 

“Because Betty is worried you think she’s trying to exploit you, which makes her upset. And that makes _me_ upset. And since she’s too embarrassed to talk to you again, I’m here.”

 

“She shouldn’t be embarrassed. And I wasn’t trying to make her upset, or anything.” Jughead tried to keep the alarm out of his voice, but if Veronica’s smirk was anything to go by, he failed.

 

“Yes, I know. Like I said, I’m not here to convince you to do the cover. I _am_ here to tell you a little bit more about the idea, so you know the intention behind the shoot wasn’t to capitalize on your suffering or minimize your story. So then you can apologize to my girl and she can stop moping around my office.”

 

Jughead had full intentions to never talk to or see Veronica Lodge again. If someone told him even an hour ago that he would let her sit down and tell him about her ideas for a fashion editorial, he would’ve laughed them into the next century. But he couldn’t get the image of a worried Betty out of his mind, didn’t want to think about her sad eyes or the way she flinched after he’d refused the shoot last week. If anyone asked, he would’ve blamed it on the lack of coffee in his system, but he knew that it was really the guilt that caused him to sigh, pull another chair up to the desk, and gesture for Veronica to take a seat.

 

“I’m still not going to do your stupid photo shoot.” He warned, but she smiled anyways and crossed her legs.

 

“We’ll see.” She said, arching her eyebrow.

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

After Veronica left, Jughead pulled out his phone and stared at Betty’s contact page for a few minutes. Her ideas had been, surprisingly, a little more sincere than he had initially imagined. He was _almost_ convinced that she was serious about using the magazine as a platform, and not as a marketing device. Regardless, he did feel he owed it to Betty to assure her that he wasn’t angry or anything.

 

He was probably overthinking, as he was apt to do. He found it difficult to believe that someone like Betty Cooper could be that impacted by the opinions of someone like him—a grad student with too little sleep and too much caffeine. She was smart and capable- he knew that she went to Columbia, and the articles that she’d freelanced for other magazines were all incredibly thoughtful and well-researched. Veronica had made it sound like she was really upset, but he also got the feeling that Veronica was prone to dramatization. Still, he slid his thumb to call her, and tried to kick out the nausea that floated into his stomach as he heard the dial tone.

 

“ _Jughead?_ ” Her voice came, sounding grainy from his less-than-stellar cell plan, but still bright.

 

“Hi, Betty.”

 

“ _Hi.”_ There was a pause, and Jughead squeezed his eyes closed as he mentally cursed himself for not preparing what he would say in advance. “ _What’s up?”_ She added after a moment, and he had to try not to laugh at how stilted her tone had become.

 

“Veronica came to see me today.” He said, finally, and Betty let out a small groan.

 

“ _Oh, my god. Did she mess up your store, again? I’m so sorry, she didn’t tell me she was going out there, god she literally never steps foot in Brooklyn and now she’s done it twice just to ruin the Loft--”_

_“_ She didn’t ruin the store, I promise.” He cut her off, and he could almost hear the gears in her head turning, trying to think of another reason she would be there.

 

“ _Oh. Good, I mean.”_

 

“She wanted to give a little bit more back story on your editorial idea, or whatever. It’s an… intriguing idea.” He gave a sigh, then sat up a little straighter. “Look, Veronica mentioned that you’d been a little upset since last week, and I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t think I was angry at you, or anything. Because I’m not, honestly, I’m really not. And if I came off like I was, then that was unfair, and I’m sorry. It’s a good idea, and your community outreach project sounds really thoughtful, so. I hope you find the right face for the project.”

 

Jughead waited for a moment, as Betty processed his slight-word-vomit. After a few more seconds of silence, he asked, “Are you still there?”

 

There was a hum of agreement, then another short pause. “ _Would it be okay if I came to the Loft? I think I’d like to talk about this in person.”_

 

“Oh. Sure.”

 

“ _Okay. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, then.”_

 

After he agreed, she clicked off the call and Jughead stared down at his phone. He wasn’t exactly expecting to see Betty, but since her appearance in his life, almost nothing had gone as he expected it to- from Hurricane Veronica to cover deals. He looked at the chair next to him that Veronica had occupied earlier, and made a quick decision.

 

 

 

Toni arrived within ten minutes, and Jughead said a silent thank-you to whoever brought her into his life as she took his place behind the desk with no questions asked. She did grab his latest draft and her designated pink pen for edits, but other than that sat quietly and didn’t even roll her eyes as he paced the floor in front of her.

 

Exactly fourteen minutes after her call, the door opened again and Betty stepped in. She was wearing jeans today, probably because it was late enough so she’d already gone home after the work day, with keds and a cream blouse. Her hair was in a ponytail, not the tight one he was used to, but a looser one at the nape of her neck.

 

“Hi.” She said, standing at an uncomfortable distance in front of him.

 

“Do you want to go on a walk?” He asked, and watched as what looked like relief rippled through her. She smiled slightly, and gave a nod. Jughead turned back to thank Toni, but she was already raising her hand in a two-finger salute and nodding him away.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

They walked west, towards the river, but didn’t say much for the first few blocks. Betty seemed tense, and Jughead didn’t really know why she wanted to meet up in the first place because he didn’t have anything else to say. The only thing he could think of was _you look pretty_ and _please don’t be mad at me_ , which both felt too juvenile to speak out loud. Finally, they reached Transmitter Park, where Betty led him over to a bench in the sun, and they sat, facing out to the water.

 

“Thanks for calling me to say all those things, earlier.” She said at last, and Jughead looked over in surprise.

 

“I meant them. I should’ve tried to understand a little bit more about the project before jumping down your throat, so, I’m sorry about that.” He reached up to readjust his beanie, which was beginning to slide with the sweat that had gathered in their walk.

 

“No, you were right. It was wrong of me, and the whole company, really, to assume anything about your story. I kept telling Veronica that you wouldn’t want to be in it but then she started talking about the articles and I just… I got caught up in the excitement of writing a real story, not just a puff-piece about skincare products. I’m sorry, Jug.” She looked over at him, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Betty. Really. And, hey, I read your articles.” He added, nudging her slightly with his elbow. She looked startled, and a slight blush colored her neck.

 

“You did?”

 

“Yeah. The ones for _Quality_ weren’t exactly my… area of expertise,” she laughed as he chose his words carefully, but seemed pleased as he went on, “but the piece you did for _Paste_ on the role of fashion in decision making was really eye-opening.”

 

She still looked surprised, but smiled a little bit.

 

“You’re a writer, too, aren’t you? I’ve noticed the typewriter.”

 

“Yeah, but I do fiction. I’m in the last couple of weeks of my grad program for creative writing at NYU.”

 

“What’s your genre of choice?”

 

“Short stories, usually real-world narratives. I’m working on a collection right now, though, that are a little more introspective. My portfolio is due next week.” She nods sympathetically, and turns back to the water.

 

“You must be busy with that, and working at the store.”

 

He shrugs, because in truth, he almost feels like he should be busier than he is.

 

“It’s not too bad. I’m almost finished with the first draft of my last portfolio piece—that’s what Toni’s looking over right now, back at the Loft. She does photojournalism, but I’ve somehow managed to con her into being my go-to editor.”

 

Betty’s eyes sparked a little.

 

“Oh! Toni Topaz? At the _Journal_! I know her work.”

 

“Yeah? She’d be pleased to hear that.”

  
Betty smiled, then, and they sat in silence for a moment longer.

 

“Do you want to hear more about the community outreach project I’m spearheading?” She asked, turning towards him with tension clearly on her face.

 

“I’d like that.” He said, and she paused, as if checking to make sure he was serious, before nodding again.

 

He watched her talk for a moment before reminding his brain to listen to the words that she was saying. Her eyes were bright and the apprehension that had been held inside of her earlier was clearly dissipating as she carried on about her program. He found himself thankful to have been able to play a role in her easy smile, her clear breathing, her breathless laugh as she recounted how she thought up the idea. He found himself wishing he could hear it more often.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha remember when i said i'd have a regular update schedule? my bad, friends.
> 
> thanks again for your amazing comments! it's truly the greatest thing to read them, i'm so glad you're enjoying this story. i'm having sooo much fun getting into the minds of these characters. hopefully it can live up to your expectations.
> 
>  
> 
> also: this story is like, barely even a funny face au at this point, but whatever. it's kind of still there. 
> 
>  
> 
> i'm on tumblr at waunderwrites if you wanna come chat!!


	5. v

 

“If you glare at your phone any harder it’ll start to melt, B.” Veronica didn’t look up from where she was scribbling notes on her legal pad, settled into her couch.

 

“I’m not!” Betty replied, quickly averting her eyes from where she had, in fact, been looking at her phone, and turning to face Veronica instead. Even if Veronica believed her, the flush etching its way across her face said otherwise.

 

“Sure. It’s late, B, I’m sure he just fell asleep.” It was just past 11, which Betty knew was still early in Jughead’s world, but she didn’t bother explaining that to Veronica. She had sent her last text to him well over three hours ago, and though an answer wasn’t pertinent she was somewhat surprised at her own desperation to hear back from him.

 

Since their walk earlier in the week, she and Jughead had been texting pretty frequently, and she’d gone by the shop again just this afternoon (justified by it being her Friday Trip, though she couldn’t _exactly_ justify the half day of work that she took for the occasion), where they talked about their favorite books for an hour before going on another walk. The weather was really warming up in New York, and she was always happy to walk alongside the blooming flowers and and trees lining the sidewalks. They went back to Transmitter Park, which was abloom with magnolias and petunias, the colors so bright she almost felt like she was back in Riverdale.

 

Jughead had, tentatively, agreed to provide some direction for her community outreach project. After talking with him, she had somewhat switched the gears of her focus. He had offered to connect her with after-school programs and arts initiatives that already existed in the city, primarily in South Brooklyn. These programs, Jughead said, were already up and running and provided an opportunity for the community to better itself, and the best thing that she and _Quality_ could do for them was to use their platform to amplify the voices already calling out.

 

He was, she thought, the smartest person she’d ever met. He was so thoughtful and sincere, in a way no one else that she worked with was. She was so thankful for his help, the amount of responsibility Veronica had given her was teetering on overwhelming and without his insight she couldn’t even imagine where she would start.

 

From the coffee table, her phone gave a _buzz_ and the screen lit up. Betty tried to school her expression as she reached for it, but Veronica tracked her movement with a raised eyebrow anyway.

 

_Sorry—Friday evenings are mandatory family dinner, no phones allowed. Sweet Pea made a roast this week that didn’t actually kill us, so my night is looking pretty good._

 

She couldn’t help but twitch her lips into a smile at that. As far as excuses go, it was a pretty adorable one. Before she could reply, a second message came in.

 

_If you’re free tomorrow, I can help you narrow down the list of organizations to follow up with…_

Veronica cleared her throat, and Betty glanced up guiltily.

 

“He just offered to help with sorting through the potential organizations.” She shrugged her shoulders, before shooting off a text to Jughead agreeing and suggesting a coffee shop near the Loft that she loved.

 

“Yes, I’m sure Tall, Dark, and Snarky is just begging to spend his Saturday going through a list of organizations for a project he refused in the first place.” Veronica’s tone had an edge that made Betty smirk, if just slightly.

 

“I know you’re still upset he rejected your cover, V, but he’s really been so helpful these past few days. You could at least _pretend_ you’re not bitter about it.”

 

Veronica groaned. “I thought for _sure_ telling him you were so upset would guilt him into it. I was counting on your puppy eyes, Betty! Where are they? Have you been too busy staring lovingly to properly convince him of our dire need for help?” She pointed her pencil at Betty accusingly, her dark hair falling slightly into her face as she leaned forward.

 

“That ship has sailed, Veronica, time to look for an alternative route.”

 

Veronica scowled, and Betty turned her attention back to her phone, where Jughead had responded with a smiley face. He didn’t strike her as someone who sent a lot of smiley faces, she’d only seen a rare glimpse of a real on ghost across his own face in the time they’d spent together (though, admittedly, it was not that much time).

 

Betty had never been that girl that over-analyzed every comma in a text message a boy sent her, had never searched for hidden meanings in every exchange. Until Jughead, every boy she had talked to had been quite straightforward; there was no second guessing, no contextual analysis, and not enough butterflies in her stomach to rival a small rainforest. Until Jughead—no. She cut the thought off.

 

 _There is no ‘until Jughead’,_ she reminded herself. _You are friends, if even that, and that’s why he’s helping you. Just friendship._ She decidedly didn’t let herself focus on why her stomach twisted up at the thought.

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

Betty arrived at the coffee shop fifteen minutes early. This was five minutes late by Alice Cooper Standard Time, and though Betty had spent a lot of time (and money) working through the anxieties the expectations of her mother had manifested in her, she couldn’t seem to shake the habit of turning up early to everything. She found a table in the corner, and debated for a few moments whether or not it was rude to order a drink before the other person got there.

 

Deciding ultimately that it was not, she placed an order for an almond milk latte and a large black coffee and began to pull out her notebook when the chair across from her was pulled out, Jughead dropping down in it. It was still six minutes before their agreed upon time, and Betty looked up at him with a smile.

 

“You’re early.” She said. He matched her gaze, and quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Not as early as you.” He said, evenly.

 

“Trust me, no one is.”

 

He leaned down towards his messenger bag, which he had plopped unceremoniously on the floor upon arrival, and pulled out a well-loved Macbook. “You know, I absolutely believe that. It fits the image.”

 

Betty bit down on her lip, and felt her muscles tense slightly. She tried to give a shaky laugh, but it sounded hollow in her ears. “The perfect over-achiever?” She asked, dryly.

 

Jughead looked up in surprise, his brows furrowed. “No. I meant the image of… someone who cares a lot, I guess. Someone who puts in the extra effort. It’s not a bad thing, Betty. We could all stand to be a little bit more like you.”

 

She felt her face flush deeply at his words, and wondered if she’d ever manage to get through a conversation with Jughead where she didn’t turn beet red.

 

People making assumptions about her ‘image’ was a tender wound for Betty. Her mother had been the primary perpetrator, drilling expectations into her daughters before they could even talk. Once again, Jughead had surprised her with his intuition. His ability to _see_ her, after only two weeks, was keeping Betty on edge, filling her with anticipation. It didn’t help that he seemed almost unaware of his effect on her, taking a long sip from his coffee and shuffling through a folder that he had pulled out.

 

“Split the deck?” He asked, handing her half of a stack of papers. She nodded eagerly, accepting the pile and settling in with the research he had pulled together on organizations in the area.

 

Jughead had been so receptive to helping her with this outreach project, she could hardly believe he was the same guy that rebuked the initial collaboration with _Quality_ so ferociously. With the time they’d spent together, she had gathered he was more of a behind-the-lens (or keyboard) type, but he’d really gone above and beyond with the information on potential community partners.

  
They worked in silence for the most part, sometimes glancing up to share a particular criticism or good idea, but for the most part Betty found she was comfortable with the quiet air between them. For almost her whole life, she felt like she was putting on a performance. She put on so many different characters; the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect friend, the perfect student, she almost didn’t know what was left of _her_ when all of them were stripped away.

 

Being with Jughead was easy in a way she had never experienced before—not even with Veronica, though she loved her dearly. Jughead didn’t expect anything of her, or need anything from her, and it had been so long since she had spent time with someone who gave her enough space just to be _her_.

 

They worked their way through their own stacks, then swapped pages to go through each others notes. By the end of a few hours (and several pastries, on Jughead’s part), they had definitive plans to reach out to three of the organizations, with an assortment of back-up plans in case something fell through.

 

Betty found herself lingering, unwilling to start packing up and ending their time together. Jughead didn’t seem to be making any moves in that direction, either, instead rummaging through his bag yet again and retrieving a few notebooks and sheets of paper. He noticed her gaze, and gave a small shrug.

  
“My final portfolio is due in exactly 9 days, so I’m trying to squeeze every ounce of productivity out of myself.”

 

“Jug!” She exclaimed, her jaw dropping, “You have so much work to do! You shouldn’t have let me take up so much of your time!”

 

“I don’t mind. Honestly, Betts, if I didn’t wanna help you I would have said so. I, erm, clearly have no reservations about doing that.” He winced slightly, and Betty laughed.

 

“Clearly.” She caught his gaze, and smiled for a beat longer than acceptable. “Well, I can get out of your hair now.” She hesitated, still, glancing down at her bag by her feet.

 

“No!” Jughead said, somewhat forcefully. “I just mean, um. No. You don’t have to.” He followed up in a shaky voice, and Betty was surprised to see the remnants of a blush on his cheeks. “You can stay, I mean, if you have work to do, or something.”

 

“Okay,” she almost-whispered, “I’ll stay.”

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

The rest of Betty’s weekend passed in a flurry of catching up on work. After she and Jughead had finally parted ways on Saturday evening, she returned to her apartment with several emails confirming appointments with community leaders for the following week.

 

She hadn’t seen Jughead since, and it was already Wednesday. They had texted some, but she knew he was overly busy with his portfolio being due the next week, and she didn’t want to be a bother.

 

Anyways, it wasn’t like she didn’t have things keeping her busy. She already had two meetings with some of the potential partners that she and Jughead had picked out, and they had gone extraordinarily well. After her meeting with the final organization from their top three this afternoon, she had to travel all the way to the Upper East Side to be at Cheryl’s for dinner promptly at 6.

 

Cheryl’s birthday was usually spent upstate with Jason (they still liked double birthday celebrations, something Betty was sure she would have grown tired of by 25), but Jason and her sister, Polly, had taken the twins to France this year, so Betty was stepping in to make sure Cheryl had a good evening.

 

Her own relationship with her cousin (and quasi-sister-in-law? She tried not to think too hard about the various ways they were related) had been strained for most of their lives until they both went away to college and discovered freedoms they had never been acquainted with before. Cheryl was still dramatic beyond compare, and vaguely narcissistic, but Betty had been on the receiving end of her extraordinary kindness more than enough times to know she was lucky to have her.

 

The meeting went exceptionally well. It was a Boys & Girls club that operated out of South Brooklyn, one that Jughead had recommended with particular enthusiasm, and the woman who met with her seemed excited to learn more about a partnership. She was an older woman, who introduced herself as Tess Stonewall, her dark skin and graying hair combined with a large smile that made Betty warm to her immediately.

 

As they were wrapping up, Ms. Stonewall put a hand on Betty’s forearm, squeezing slightly. “I am so pleased this is moving forward, Miss Cooper. I can’t imagine how you even heard of our little organization, but we could really use the help you and your magazine are offering us.”

 

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Ms. Stonewall, honestly,” Betty smiled back, “A friend of mine brought your group up, and he seemed pretty sure that it would be a good fit.” At Ms. Stonewall’s look of surprise, she added, “Jughead Jones?”

 

Ms. Stonewall’s face lit up with an even brighter smile, and she let out a coo. “Oh, that boy! As if he hasn’t done enough for us already, here he is giving us an in with a national magazine!”

 

“You know him well, then?” Betty asked, smiling at how enthusiastic the older woman was about Jughead. _He deserves people who think this highly of him_ , she though briefly.

 

“Know him? I practically raised him. All of them—Toni, Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Jughead. God, they were quite the crew back then. I’ve never seen four kids so fundamentally different stick together so fiercely.”

 

“I didn’t know they all went so far back.” Betty said in surprise.

 

She had met Toni, of course, and had gathered that Sweet Pea was the taller boy with the neck tattoo after a few conversations with Jughead. Fangs, it seemed, was dating her friend Kevin (probably the reason Kevin had recommended the Book Loft in the first place), but she had yet to see them all together. She could tell from the way Jughead talked about them that they were close—family, he said a few times. She just hadn’t known they’d been that way since childhood.

 

“Oh, yes. They’ve been throwing punches together since they were crawling around in nappies. And they’ve all done so well for themselves, too. I’m going to Jughead’s graduation next weekend, can you even believe it? A Master’s degree! A kid from the Southside is gonna get a Master’s degree.” Ms. Stonewall’s face grew somewhat distant, but there was still a smile etched on it as she sighed. “Jughead’s the reason this club is still running. He and the rest of them went to battle for us when the Ghoulie’s wanted to overtake the land. Jug wouldn’t let them anywhere near the block, he and the others took shifts escorting kids to and from the club to make sure no one got the jump on them. Without his plan—and his sacrifice—the Boys & Girls Club would have been sent packing a long time ago.”

 

Betty could hardly believe what Ms. Stonewall was telling her. It sounded like the Club was really important to Jughead, but he hadn’t mentioned anything other than vouching for their work when they’d discussed it on Saturday. Not only had Jughead himself grown up going there, but he’d… what, gone to war for it?

 

“I had no idea.” She murmured, still lost in her own thoughts.

 

“Jughead is a rare sort, Miss Cooper. There are very few things that he deems worthy of his love. But the ones that he does, there’s very little he wouldn’t do for them. The B&G is lucky to be one of those things.”

 

“Yeah, he’s definitely… passionate.” Betty said, and Ms. Stonewall let out a small burst of laughter.

 

“Passionate is putting it mildly. The boy laid down his life for his community in the most literal of ways. Of course,” She adds, “This was all when they were with the Serpents. He doesn’t go all Butch Cassidy much anymore. He’s helping in different ways. Safer ways, as I remind him so often.” She laughed, and offered Betty a wink, as if Betty was supposed to know the details of what she was alluding to. In honesty, she was more confused than ever.

 

Jughead, it seemed, had a violent history paved with good intentions. It was weird to learn more about his life from this virtual stranger than from the man himself, and she couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty.

 

“Right. Well, he was very excited to suggest the Boys & Girls Club, I can tell it means a lot to him. I’m so sorry to cut this off, but I have another appointment across town. Maybe you can talk to your partners and let me know what you think of the offer? We can reconnect by, say, Friday?” Betty asked, closing her notebook and putting on a smile for Ms. Stonewall.

 

“That sounds great to me, Miss Cooper. You tell Jughead thank you for me, if you see him before I do, alright?”

 

“I absolutetly will. It was lovely to meet you, Ms. Stonewall.”  
  
“Please,” the older woman tossed her hand, “Call me Tess.”

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Betty spent the subway journey replaying what Tess had said over and over again in her mind until she was sure of a few things.

 

The first was that the ‘anger’ that had attracted Veronica and _Quality_ to Jughead in the first place came from a very real and raw place of disenfranchisement. She could see now, a little bit clearer, how the cover offer had rubbed him the wrong way.

 

The second was that he was likely the most loyal person she had every come across.

 

And the third, and somewhat scariest, was that he had been involved in some capacity with a group called the Serpents that got in what seemed to be physical altercations with other… gangs? Crews? She didn’t know the proper terminology, but she knew it had to be dangerous from the way Tess had described it.

 

Jughead had texted her and asked how the meeting went, but she had yet to reply. She didn’t know what to say to him, now that she knew so much more about his history and he hadn’t been the one to share it with her.

 

By the time she got to Cheryl’s building, she had replayed Tess Stonewall’s words so many times she thought for sure she could repeat them backwards. She shook her head a little bit to clear her mind before pressing the button for the intercom. Maybe dinner with Cheryl was exactly what she needed to pull herself out of this introspective overthinking-loop.

 

“Cousin Betty! You’re early, as you should be.” Cheryl opened the door with a smile, and Betty reached forward to give her a hug.

 

“Happy birthday, Cher. Thanks for having me for dinner.”

 

Cheryl rolled her eyes at the formality, leading Betty into the apartment. She’d been to Cheryl’s place several times over the years that they’d lived in New York, but she still couldn’t help but gaze in wonder at the white marble staircases, the large windows letting in a flood of evening sun into the sitting room.

 

The townhouse was gaudy in a way that only Cheryl could pull off, ornate decorations intertwined with modern sculptures, a modern open-concept plan that didn’t entirely fit with the rich timelessness of the décor. Still, it was comfortable and warm (probably from the real fireplace that Cheryl almost always kept hot), and smelled sweetly like maple syrup—as any Blossom home should, Cheryl had once said.

 

“Supper will be ready shortly, but we can sit until it’s served. Veronica tells me you have undertaken quite the revamping project at _Quality_.” Cheryl settled comfortably into a white chaise, and Betty took a seat on the leather sofa opposite her.

 

“Yes, Veronica has this whole remodeling thing going on, so we’ve all been pretty busy. I’ve been focusing more on a community outreach project to go along with the editorials.” She reached into her bag, retrieving a wrapped package and holding it out to her cousin. “Before I tell you all the gory details, a gift. Happy birthday, again.”

 

Cheryl’s perfectly-painted red lips turned up in a smile, and she accepted the package delicately. It was the first edition of _Murders on the Rue Morgue_ that Betty had found on her first trip to _The Book Loft_ , and Cheryl’s mouth dropped. She and Betty had bonded over their love for Poe, and she knew Cheryl was a huge fan of original copies of books.

 

“You have outdone yourself, cousin. Truly.” Cheryl turned the book over in her hands, inspecting every aspect. It was truly a beautiful edition, and Betty made a mental note to thank Jughead for finding it so quickly. “Wherever did you find this?”

 

“Oh, in _The Book Loft_. It’s an independent bookstore in Greenpoint, pretty close to my apartment. They’ve got quite the extensive collection of mysteries.”  
  
“Fascinating. You’ll have to take me there soon, I’d love to see what other hidden gems they have laying around.”  
  
They moved to the table as the food was being laid out, and Betty nodded.

  
“Yes, of course! I’m sure Jug would talk your ear off about first editions.” She said, and Cheryl looked up.

 

“And who is ‘Jug’, Cousin? If that can be considered a name.” Her face twisted in distaste, but Betty just rolled her eyes.

 

“Jughead Jones, he works at the Loft. And you can’t comment on the name thing unless you want to explain _Juniper_ and _Dagwood_ , as adorable as our niece and nephew may be.”

 

Cheryl snorted, something that should feel out of character but instead reminds Betty of her humanity.

 

“Fair point. Tell me more about the magazine, B.”

 

“Well, if you can believe it, Jughead actually has a bit to do with Veronica’s overhaul.”

 

Her cousin arched an eyebrow before picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of potato onto it.

 

“Color me intrigued.”

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

By Friday, Betty had yet to respond to Jughead’s messages. He had texted her once more on Thursday, just a funny comment about a customer, but she had yet to figure out the right way to say _I met your mentor from childhood and now I know about your dangerous past_ , _I’m sorry I know things that you didn’t tell me_.

 

She was wracked with guilt—both over the information she now possessed and the added feelings from ignoring him. She told Cheryl that she would take her to the Loft this afternoon, and if Jughead was working she would be forced to confront her guilt head on.

 

Cheryl picked her up from work in a town car, because even after six years in the City, Cheryl does not take the subway. Betty spends the drive trying to focus on Cheryl’s account of Jason and Polly’s latest update from France, but can’t do much more than hum in agreement every so often.

 

Cheryl, bless her, did not seem to notice Betty’s growing anxiety, and when the car pulls to a stop outside the Loft, she steps out with a smile.

 

“Quaint,” is all she said, but Betty can hear the appreciation in her voice.

 

Though she is used to the finer things in life, Cheryl’s appreciation for art goes far beyond the impressionists. She looked back to Betty, who took her cue to lead the way up the yellow stairs.

 

The Loft is, just as she had left it last week, quiet and empty. Betty looked immediately over to the desk, but saw Toni’s bright pink hair rather than Jughead’s worn beanie. She let out a sigh of relief, and tried to ignore the twinge in her gut.

 

Toni glanced up briefly before going back to the stack of papers in her hand with a pink pen at the ready. “Jughead’s out,” she said, not looking back up.

 

“Oh, that’s okay.” Betty squeaked, elbowing Cheryl to keep her from commenting. “My cousin just wanted to look around a bit.”

 

Toni looked up, fixed both women with the same apathetic gaze that Betty was becoming used to, and sighed deeply. “Do whatever you want, as long as you don’t ransack the store again.”

 

“One day you’ll forgive me for that.” Betty said, and Toni smirks in reply.

 

“Unlikely,” she said. “Although Jug tells me the project you’re working on isn’t _all_ bad.”

 

“Wow, that’s pretty high praise.”

  
Toni rolls her eyes, but looks up almost earnestly. “It is from him.”

 

“Do you have any limited editions?” Cheryl interrupted, walking over to the desk from where she’d been perusing along the bookcases.

 

Toni spares another look her way, before removing her feet from the top of the desk and standing up.

 

“Sure. There’s more upstairs in the locked room, but I can show you.”

 

“I appreciate it.” Cheryl replied, smiling slightly. Betty is caught a little off guard by Cheryl’s pleasantries, but said nothing as the two make their way up the staircase, instead choosing to look through the aisles for a book of her own.

 

She settled into an armchair with _High Sierra_ , and curls up happily, tucking her feet beneath her.

 

Cheryl and Toni return a few minutes later, and Cheryl bought something before hurrying off. She often says that she’s allergic to Brooklyn, and can’t stand to be there for more than an hour or two at a time. Betty wasn’t planning on staying longer at the Loft than necessary, but the book is good, and the chair is comfortable, and Toni doesn’t seem to care one way or the other.

 

She’s just reading about the car crash that led to the demise of Red and Babe when the door opens, and, of course, in walks Jughead. He doesn’t seem to notice her, just goes over to sit on the desk and kicks Toni’s feet down.

 

“Did you finish yet?” He asked, and Betty could hear the apprehension in his voice.

 

“Just did. It’s really good, Jug. Probably the best you’ve ever written. What did your professor say?”

 

Betty tried to keep her eyes on her page, but it was difficult when Jughead let out a pleased hum. It’s not like she was spying, anyways. Toni knew she was there.

 

“Same thing, pretty much. Invited me to do a reading tomorrow night, too.”

 

“Jug! That’s amazing! We’ll all come, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Jughead’s voice was sarcastic, but there was a softness to it that Betty hadn’t heard before. “Anyways, that’s the last one. I’ll just make the hundreds of edits I know you marked for me and put it all together, and then that’s it. I’m done.”

 

There’s a pause, and then Jughead makes a startled sort of noise.

 

“Betty,” He said, and she looked up quickly to find him staring at her. “This is the second time you’ve done this, you know.” He nods to the chair, smirking, and she laughs quietly.

 

He doesn’t appear to be upset with her, at least, which is good.

 

“Maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings.” She says, and Toni lets out a grumble.

 

“Gross. I’m out. See you for dinner, Jug. I’m making stir fry.” She said, grabbing her bag and walking out the door, giving Betty a smirk on her way out.

 

“Book browsing?” Jughead asked, coming to sit on the armchair adjacent to the one she was occupying.

 

“Oh, not really. My cousin was with me earlier, the one the Poe first edition was for? She wanted to see your other rare books, I think. She left earlier but I was sort of caught up with Big Mac and Roy.” She lifts the book up, but closes it and places it on the side table.

 

“Nice. I’m supposed to close soon, but you can hang around until I lock up if you wanna keep reading.” He got to his feet, but Betty followed him and stood up as well.

 

“I’m sorry for not responding to you.” She said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

 

Jughead looked at her in surprise, shaking his head with a slight smile.

 

“You don’t have to apologize for being busy, Betty. We’re friends, but you don’t owe me a response every time I text you a stupid story.”

 

She tugged her lower lip into her mouth, and let the relief of his words wash over her.

 

“It’s not just that, Jug. It’s about my meeting with Tess.”

 

“Did it not go well?” He asked, his brows furrowing.

 

“No, it did! It went really well, she’s amazing, and the B&G is amazing, and it’s definitely my favorite one from our list.” She suddenly found it difficult to look him in the eye. “It’s just, you didn’t tell me that you knew her so well,” she said, carefully.

 

“Oh. I just didn’t want to taint your choice with my obvious bias.”

 

“She told me about your time there, Jug. And she mentioned your… commitment to the Club.”

 

Jughead froze, and he flinched away from her. Betty felt her stomach drop as she watched his face fall into something she could only liken to… disappointment.

 

“She told you about the Serpents.” His voice was flat, and as she nodded, he turned away, leaving her to look at his back.

 

He wasn’t wearing his leather jacket today, probably due to the excessive heat, and instead had on a gray t-shirt that accentuated his arms in ways she didn’t need to be focusing on right now.

 

“She mentioned them, is all.”

 

He didn’t turn back around, and when he spoke, he sounded resigned. “And that’s why you didn’t reply to me.”

 

“No! Jug, no,” she said, walking around his back to stand in front of him. “I didn’t reply because I felt… uncomfortable, because I knew things about your life that you hadn’t told me. It felt wrong. It wasn’t because I was judging you, or anything.”

 

She clasped her hands together to keep them from doing something without her permission, like tugging on his collar or touching his cheek, and forced herself to maintain eye contact.

  
His face softened, a bit, and he took a deep breath. “Jesus, Betty. The Serpents aren’t exactly a secret. You can read all about them in like, every local paper in Brooklyn from five years ago.”

 

“Okay. It just felt weird to learn about your life when you weren’t the one making the choice to share those things with me.”

 

“I’ll tell you all about the Serpents, if you want. But right now, I gotta close up the store and get home before three ex-gang members come and whoop my ass for being late to dinner.”

 

Betty laughed, and ducked her head.

 

“I’ll help you, if you want,” she offered, and he directed her to a pile of magazines that had been left on top of a bookshelf.

 

She left the Loft feeling lighter than she had all week, with a promise to go to Jughead’s open-mic reading the following night and a little extra pep in her step as she walked the few blocks home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay thank you for reading this chapter!!!
> 
> your comments are, as always, fantastic, so thank you for leaving those as well. i'm really enjoying this story!! 
> 
> it's literally like, 0% funny face anymore and now a fully formed self-indulgent bookstore au. i'm sorry but i'm not.
> 
> i'm on tumblr! waunderwrites.tumblr.com come say hi!


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my update schedule is trashed by this point, honestly. thank you so so much for continuing to leave comments on this story! i hope you like this chapter... we're definitely getting to the ~good stuff~ soon

 

 

In the six years of his pursuit of higher education, Jughead had learned to live with doing readings of his work. It still wasn’t the part he loved the most about writing, but there were aspects of the performance that he appreciated. He liked the relationship between speaker and listener, how in tune they could be. He liked the energy that radiated from a captive audience, appreciated knowing his stories were capable of creating that ambiance.

 

He also liked that his friends came. Sweet Pea, Fangs, and Toni had been showing up for him (and he for them) for his whole life, but it still felt like a gift every time they walked in.

 

The evening’s reading was in Tribeca, a small coffee shop that had converted the basement into a performance space. It wasn’t the largest place he’d read, but the smaller space made it feel busier, and as he sat on a stool listening to the pre-reading playlist echoing around him, he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

 

His professor had met him at the door, a large man with a gray mustache that would look villainous on anyone else, but only makes Wentz look more friendly.

 

“Jug! So glad you could make it this evening. A few of your classmates are milling around, as I’m sure you’ll see. You’re reading fourth, and then I’d love for you to stick around and meet some friends of mine.”

 

Jughead knew that _‘meet some friends of mine’_ was writer-code for networking with publishers, and he couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him as Wentz gave him a clap on the back. It hadn’t taken long for Jughead to realize that Wentz was going to be one of the biggest influences on not only his ability to write, but his career trajectory. He was encouraging and interested in the stories each of his students had to tell, as well as an author himself, with several well-connected friends in publishing houses. With any luck, the conversations had tonight would propel him forward with his after-grad plans of writing.

 

Wentz brought him downstairs, where he saw Nancy and Raj from his study group. The three of them stood to the side, chatting idly about their latest edits of their portfolios that were due in two days.

 

A strong hand landed on Jughead’s shoulder, and he rolled his eyes as Fangs and Sweet Pea grabbed onto him with excitement. Toni stood to the side, rolling her eyes, but smiling nonetheless.

 

“Lay off, it’s not like you’ve never heard my work before.” Jughead said, shoving his friends off of him, regaining control of his arms.

 

“Sure, but this is the last one before your graduation!” Fangs said, smiling brightly.

 

“Yeah, so if you crash and burn they can still take your degree away.” Sweet Pea said, elbowing Jughead in the ribs.

 

“That’s not how it works, dumbass.” Toni replied, but Sweet Pea just smirks.

 

“Thanks for taking the night off from the warehouses, T.” He says, and she smiles at him.

 

“The druglords will still be there tomorrow. Good luck, Jug. We’re gonna go grab the good seats.”

 

“Yeah, so we can heckle!” Sweet Pea says, and Toni sighs as she tugs on his arm. She’s probably a good foot and a half shorter than him, but her glare makes up for what she lacks in height, and Sweet Pea follows willingly, his hands in the air.

 

“Friends of yours?” He hears in his ear, and turns to see none other than Veronica Lodge standing at his side.

 

She looks out of place in the dingy, reupholstered basement, her tall heels clicking as she taps her foot, almost as if she’s counting the seconds she has to stay here.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

She narrows her eyes, but shrugs. “Betty mentioned it. I make it my business to follow the local writing scene, anyways.”

 

Her tone makes it seem like that’s not all she’s here for, but Jughead doesn’t have the time or energy for decrypting Veronica Lodge.

 

“Sure. Is Betty here? I haven’t seen her yet.”

 

He thinks that was the wrong thing to say, if the way Veronica’s eyes flash is anything to go by.

“Not yet.” She says, even more cryptically. “She’s on her way. It’s lucky that this little shindig was this weekend, you know.”

 

Jughead knows he should not engage. He should smile, take a breath, and walk away, look for Betty on his own. But there’s something in Veronica’s eyes that makes him think that she’s trying to tell him something about Betty, and if there’s anything he’s learned in the past two weeks of being Betty’s friend, it’s that he has an insatiable curiosity when it comes to her.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks, trying to ignore how foolish and desperate he sounds.

 

“Oh, just because she’ll be so busy in the next few months. I mean, we have castings all next week for the magazine, and then she’s going to be working with whoever we get almost constantly. She’s overseeing the shoots and doing the interview piece, in addition to her work with the community, so honestly it’ll be a miracle if she resurfaces at all this summer.”

 

The sinking feeling that started the moment Veronica started talking twists suddenly, and Jughead tries not to suck in a breath too obviously. He knew that Betty was taking on a larger role with the new avenue the magazine was working down, but she hadn’t mentioned how time consuming it would be. _Why would she_ , he thought, _you just met her and you’ve already yelled at her twice. Hardly best friend material_. Still, after only two weeks, he had a hard time picturing Betty working tirelessly for the magazine she seemed to only tolerate, with faceless models and fluff pieces.

 

“Oh.” Is all he could come up with in response, but it seemed to be what Veronica was hoping for. She smiled, slightly, and put a hand on her hip.

 

“It’s a shame, really, I know Betty was really enjoying spending time with you.”

 

She was laying it on a little thick, Jughead thought, dimly, but he couldn’t help himself from reacting to her words.

 

Veronica suddenly turned her attention to behind his left shoulder, and her smile brightened.

 

“B!” She cried, and wrapped her arms around Betty, who walked up with a small smile.

 

“I hope you were playing nice, Veronica.” She said, looking questioningly at Jughead, who remembered to smile just in time.

 

Betty looked softer than ever, if that was possible. Her hair was in loose waves around her shoulders, and her dress was a light blue color that looked loose, probably to keep her cool with the summer heat rolling in. He tried to look away from where the hem hit her thigh, but his eyes stayed there a beat longer than intended. When he looked back up, her face was red, like she was embarrassed, even though he was the one caught staring.

 

“Erm, yeah. Veronica was just explaining to me the timeframe of the magazine spread.”

 

Betty nodded, and bit her lip (Jughead averted his gaze properly, that time). Before she could say anything, he looked around for Wentz and let out a sight of relief to see his professor waving him over.

 

“Gotta go, thanks for coming, guys.” He walked towards his professor without looking back. As frustrating as Veronica’s revelation had been, he was actually here to do a job.

 

The first few readings went well, and Jughead relaxed as he saw the audience being attentive and engaged. His professor stood up to introduce him, and Jughead ignored the way his stomach clenched with anxiety.

 

“Our next reader is one of my own students. Many of you know that I don’t often invite students to participate in these readings, but Jughead has such a unique voice and perspective that to deprive you of his work would be robbery of the highest proportion. He graduates just next week, so let’s give him a proper celebration. Ladies and Gentlemen, Jughead Jones.” Wentz bows his head as Jughead walks up to the stage, and gives him a large hug. Jughead can hear Sweet Pea catcalling in the audience, and looks out to find his three friends pumping their fists in the air. Audience members are smiling at them, but the primary focus is on Jughead himself, as he settles onto the stool, adjusting the microphone in front of him.

 

“Good evening. Thanks for coming out tonight. My name is Jughead, and this is the first piece of a trilogy I wrote about loss.” He pauses, clears his throat, then looks down at his papers. They’re written on his typewriter, the one that Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs all got him for his high school graduation. It’s his favorite way to type, now. He likes having to physically mark his mistakes, likes the way the loud sound of the keys makes him focus on the content of his writing. The dark ink makes him smile, slightly, and he takes a deep breath.

 

_“The city grew tired at night. People straggled home throughout the small hours of the morning, everyone weary from full days at work and the pure exhaustion of surviving another day_ …”

 

 

 

Jughead finished his piece, and inclined his head in gratitude as the snaps rang into the air. He heard a few hums of approval, and let the quiet murmurs wash over him as he stepped of the stage, slipping into a chair on the edge of the audience. He looked over to see Sweet Pea smiling, Toni giving him a thumbs up, and Fangs winking. Farther back, he sees Betty.

 

She’s sitting with her eyes closed, a faint smile on her face. He tries to imagine that she’s letting the beauty of his story sink in fully, but knows that’s giving himself too much credit. Still, she looks quietly fulfilled. She opens her eyes, and turns to meet his gaze, her smile widening. He can feel his own face quirking with a smile, and he looks away before he does something truly embarrassing, like grin.

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

Jughead talks to friends of Wentz for almost an hour. It’s not all bad—his old supervisor from his internship at _The Paris Review_ last year is there, and it’s nice to catch up with her. She seemed impressed by his reading, and offered to send copies of his work to friends of hers if he wanted.

 

Sweet Pea and Toni took off pretty quickly, but Fangs was still around, talking with Kevin, Betty, and Veronica, when he finally peeled off from Wentz with a solid handshake, his pocket heavy with business cards.

 

“Best one yet, Jones.” Fangs greets him, pulling him in for a hug. Fangs has always been the most affectionate of their friends, and Jughead claps him on the back with a smile.

 

“Thanks, man.”

 

“I was, admittedly, fairly hesitant to join you all tonight, but wow, Jughead. That was truly beautiful.” Kevin speaks up, offering Jughead a smile.

 

“Thanks for coming, all of you, seriously. These things really suck when it’s a room full of strangers.” He smiled, wryly, and met Betty’s gaze. She was smiling at him, again, and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

 

“Meet anyone cool?” She asked, turning her head to survey the remaining patrons chatting away.

 

“Yeah, a few people. There was a guy from _AGNI_ that seemed interested in getting that story into their next print. My professor wanted me to talk to a couple of his friends who work in publishing.”

 

“Jughead, if you go and work for Condé Nast, you’re dead to me.” Veronica says, not looking up from where she’s scrolling on her phone. She clicks it shut, then glances up, in time to see Betty’s pointed stare, and sighs. “But of course, I would understand. You did a great job this evening. Unfortunately, I must bow out. B, I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch.”

 

Fangs and Kevin make their excuses as well, and Jughead is left with just Betty, who looks around the room with a face that screams _uncertainty_ , and Jughead tries to remember how to breath.

 

“Did you want to go on a walk?” Betty asks, turning to face him quickly. His eyebrows raise, but he nods immediately, and she smiles. “Okay.”

 

They walk east, the night is cool around them and the city is still buzzing with life, despite the late hour.

 

“I never asked what your plans were for after graduation.” She says, suddenly.

 

“Oh. Nothing terribly exciting, really. I’ve got the store, still, and a fellowship for the summer with _The Atlantic_. I’m submitting pieces to journals pretty frequently, so I guess freelance work is the future, for now.”

 

Betty smiles like this is the best possible idea for someone to pursue, even though Jughead knows that his life as a freelance writer will be far from glamorous.

 

“That’s amazing. I was really blown away by the story, you know. It was… so expertly crafted. It left me physically aching.”

 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. And I’m glad you came. Veronica made it seem like this was your last night of freedom for a while.” He tried to say this lightly, but he couldn’t ignore the pang he got when Betty didn’t refute the claim immediately. Instead, she bit her lip, and shrugged slightly.

 

“Yeah, she’s probably a little bit right about that, unfortunately. We’re going through resumes tomorrow and then we have castings all week, and once we find somebody we have design meetings, fittings, photoshoots… the whole thing is going to take a couple of weeks at the very least. And then there’s the whole editing process, which I’m pretty much overseeing.”

 

Jughead couldn’t help but think of how often he would’ve been able to see Betty if he had only said yes when they asked him to be part of the project in the beginning. He shook the thought off as quickly as it came. _Relax, Jones._

_But_ , he couldn’t stamp out the voice. _You could still say yes._

 

They got to the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge deciding to walk across and catch the subway on the other side. Betty asked a few questions about his story, and he was struck by her attention to the nuances and undertones. She focused in on the real meaning, not getting distracted by the bells and whistles that swam along the surface.

 

“The trilogy focuses on different parts of loss. That first one was about… well, pain, I guess. The initial shock, the anguish, the desperation. The next one is more about longing. And the final one, the one I just finished a few days ago, is about moving on. Or, actually, more like acceptance. Growth.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks anywhere but her face.

 

They’re standing in the middle of the bridge, looking out across the water to the Statue of Liberty. There’s next to no traffic behind them, and no one else walking along the pathway.

 

When he finally looks at Betty, she’s got her lips quirked funnily, and her hands are folded tightly.

 

“You can ask, Betty.” He finally says, and she lets out a breath.

 

“Who is it about?” She says, and he nods, slowly.

 

“My mom. And my dad, too, I guess. She…” He trails off. It’s been a long time since he’d had to explain the sob story to anyone in full. He could brush Betty off easily, crack a joke to distract her and ask her more about the magazine to fill the air between them. He doesn’t want to, though. He wants her to know him. He breathes in. “She left when I was nine. Took my sister. My dad was in and out of jail most of my life, but he got put away for good when I was fourteen. The stories are pretty much the first time I’m really dealing with those emotions. They’re about grief, but a really specific facet of it.”

 

“Grieving something that isn’t physically gone, it’s the relationship that’s disintegrated.” Betty says, voicing the words like she plucked them out of Jughead’s head herself.

 

“Yeah.”  

 

She smiles, a bit brokenly, before turning back to the water. “I had to grieve my relationship with my parents, too. They’re not dead either, just… absent in the ways that count, and present in the ways I don’t need them to be. Controlling. When I heard you read about missing something you’d never had, it felt like someone had finally put words to what I’ve been experiencing my whole life. So, thank you. For sharing those parts of yourself. That’s really…” she pauses, and he holds his breath. “That’s really brave of you.”

 

Jughead shoves his hands deeper in his pockets, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. “I’m sorry that you can relate to that feeling.” He says, so softly his words almost get lost in the wind. She catches them, though, and throws him a smile in return.

 

“You know, Betty Cooper, I might even miss you while you’re busy with _Quality_.”

 

She lets out a sharp laugh, rolling her eyes. “Please. You’re going to be so busy fielding publishing offers that you’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”

 

“Not possible.” He throws her a wink, so she can laugh his comments off as a joke, but he feels the familiar discomfort that comes with saying goodbye to an old friend as they part ways later that evening. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself, because they aren’t _old_ friends.

 

Still, he can’t help but let his gaze linger on her smile as the subway doors close, trying to engrain her image a little deeper into his memory.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Jughead spent all of Sunday on the floor in the locked room in the Book Loft, surrounded by his work and making the final edits for his portfolio. Toni dropped in every few hours with food, but for the most part he sat in the dark, letting the sunlight filter through the dusty windows as he wrote and rewrote sections.

 

“God, it’s like all of the sudden I’ve forgotten how to use a fucking comma. How many comma’s are too many comma’s?” He asked, distractedly, as Fangs sauntered in. The other boy shrugged, and dropped onto a plush armchair, and raised an eyebrow at Jughead’s set up.

 

“Don’t you think you’re going a little Leslie Knope on this, Jug? You don’t need to make a comprehensive binder for each work. You finished those stories and they’re incredible. We think they are, professor thinks they are, you _know_ they are. So take a breath and stop rewriting the whole story just to move the fucking comma.”

 

Jughead hummed in agreement, but didn’t look up from where he was highlighting parts of the most troublesome work—a short non-fiction piece on urban space impacting sociological interactions.

 

“Alright, come on, buddy. You can read through each work one more time, then put it in the fucking folder and stretch your legs or something. You’re gonna turn into a fossil if you stay in here much longer.”

 

Jughead was thankful that his friends cared enough to step in, but he couldn’t help but shoot daggers at Fangs as he all but ripped the story from his hands. Still, he took a breath and nodded.

 

He had texted Betty that morning, wishing her luck with castings the next week, but hadn’t heard back. He reminded himself to get used to that feeling, then turned his phone off. He had other things to focus on.

 

After two more hours on his portfolio, he put it down on the desk, then descended the stairs back to the store. His friends were sitting in the armchairs rather than by the desk, the store had closed hours ago.

 

“Finished.” He called, and they turned, whooping loudly.

 

“Alright, Jones!” Sweet Pea yelled, leaping up and pulling Jughead into a body-crushing hug.

 

“Let’s celebrate!” Fangs called, already on his way out the door. Toni wrapped an arm around Jughead’s as they locked the door.

 

“We’re all proud of you, Jug. Can’t wait to see your book on the shelves in that store, one day.”

 

Jughead looks through the glass door. The lights are off, but he can still make out the tall bookshelves, the winding aisles filled with stories of people and places far away from where they stood. “One day.” He repeats.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Jughead turns in his portfolio first thing in the morning, with a strong handshake from Wentz and a few shared grins with his peers. They still weren’t his best friends, but two years of writing and sharing bonded people.

 

(He felt his fingers twitch to text Betty about it, but she still hadn’t responded to yesterdays message, and he knew she was overloaded with work.)

 

Turning in his portfolio left him feeling lighter than he had in months—years, even.  He closed his eyes as he listened to Wentz thank them all for a fantastic two years, letting the reality settle in. He was graduating in a few days. If his goal was to escape the childhood he hated so deeply, this feels like the moment to say he succeeded. He was suddenly unsure if that was his goal to begin with.

 

For two years Jughead had been working towards this: finish his program, get his degree, take the next steps to publication. He couldn’t help the anxiety bubbling inside of him. Was he really ready for this change? How was any of this going to help his career, and more importantly, his community?

 

He wanted to write about human experience—his _own_ experience, mostly, but also those of other people. Tell the stories that no one thinks to ask about. And he’s been trying, but he still didn’t have a solid offer for publications after his graduation at the end of the week, and it was weighing on him more than he thought it would.

 

So, rather than accepting his classmates offer of a celebratory lunch, he went to a coffee shop and pulled out his notebook. He wrote, neatly, at the top of it: _Best ways to help my community._

 

The list took one hour to make, but it could have been less. He kept circling back to the same point, over and over again. _Awareness_. Written in black ink in his own handwriting, but glaring up at him with a harshness he couldn’t make eye contact with. It was taunting him.

 

He knew of one way to raise the kind of awareness he was looking for. If it happened to come with the added benefit of seeing a young blonde journalist every day… who was he to argue? So he hopped on the R train, drowned out the last of his doubts by turning up the volume on the latest _Twin Peaks_ record, and stalked into the white marble lobby of Lodge Publications.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for still reading!!!
> 
>  
> 
> to answer questions: archie isn't in this because i truly do not know how to write a character like that and i'm selfish and don't want him there. his name might crop up somewhere later? unsure. 
> 
> also-- tumblr is waunderwrites.tumblr.com :)


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW i didn't even realize it had been so long since i updated and i am so sorry for that. thanks for your comments, i'm definitely getting back into writing and want to crank out the rest of this story!

 

Betty’s morning started slower than she was used to. The additional work and late night she and Veronica had pulled yesterday had already begun taking a toll on her body; she felt sluggish and achy as she dragged herself to her kitchen for coffee, and couldn’t even focus on the latest episode of _The Daily_ as she sat on the subway. Unfortunately for her, the office didn’t seem to get the memo that she wasn’t feeling 100%, and she was immediately pulled in a million different directions.

 

She had to help Karen with color swatches, and look over Erin’s notes from the stylist, and email Tess about setting up a time to come shadow at the B&G in the coming weeks, and above all else they _still_ didn’t have a cover model.

 

She and Veronica had spent almost the entirety of Sunday poring over headshots sent over from modeling agencies, but in the end had come up empty. The problem wasn’t just that Veronica was exceedingly particular. In this case, Betty had to concede that she was the one responsible for being picky.

 

The problem, for Betty, was that Tess had written her a long email about how excited she was for their partnership, and how she knew that the magazine would work for the best interest of the B&G. The problem was that Betty wanted a cover story that conveyed something personal, not just the right smile on the page. The problem was that Jughead had read a heartbreakingly real story to a crowd full of people on Saturday evening and had walked with her across the Brooklyn Bridge and let her tell him about her nightmare childhood and hadn’t seemed phased by the prospect of the skeletons in her closet. Truly, if she thought about it, the problem was that none of the models were Jughead Jones.

 

Veronica had nearly bashed her head in by the end of the night because of all of her nitpicking, sending her home in her town car with a bottle of wine and an irritated glare.

 

_“Get some rest and we’ll work on this more in the office tomorrow, B. I know you’re feeling protective about the story now, but eventually we’re going to have to choose someone to be on the cover.”_ Her voice hadn’t been dripping with annoyance as Betty had expected, but rather a sort of resignation. Perhaps Veronica, too, was disappointed with their options.

 

Her Monday had been hectic, to say the least, and to make it worse Becky spilled coffee on her blouse and Betty was _never_ the one to yell at an intern, but she was really starting to lose her grip on reality when Mario came in to tell her Veronica needed her. She stalked down the hall to her office, scrubbing at the stain on her sleeve as she shoved her way through the glass doors.

 

“V, this better be important, because I swear to god I’m about to lose--” she cut herself off as she looked up, stunned by the sight of one very tall man clad in leather and a gray beanie leaning on Veronica’s desk, while Veronica herself sits with a smug grin and a raised eyebrow. “Jug.” She finally says, blinking rapidly and moving her eyes between the two in front of her.

 

“Hi.” Jughead doesn’t offer any sort of explanation, but the sound of his voice brings her eyes firmly to his. He looks apprehensive, and seems to be uncomfortable under her gaze as he brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it harshly.

 

“What’s going on?” She asks, looking back to Veronica, who has yet to say anything. Her friend gets to her feet, and claps her hands together.

 

“Good news, Betty. Jughead, here, has officially signed on for our little endeavor.”

 

Betty feels her jaw drop, and she looks back at the man in question with confusion.

 

“Why?” She asks, and he snorts.

 

“Erm, lots of reasons.” He says, his gaze flicking back to Veronica who ignores his apprehension.

 

“Who cares! He’s here! It’s go-time, Betty. I am entrusting Jughead to your extremely capable and well-manicured hands, so you two should start working on an outline for the spread.” She motions with both hands towards the door, and Jughead stands up. His head is ducked, but Betty can tell his neck is flushed.

 

As she leads Jughead out of Veronica’s office and towards her own, she can’t help but notice the incredible contrast he brings to the white walls, the marble floors, even the fresh faced staff that they pass on the way. She can see heads turning as they walk and she quickens her steps, though she can’t blame them. Jughead has a gravitational pull that is only heightened by his obvious displacement in the office.

 

She closes her door, even though she rarely does that, and lets Jughead take a seat on the plush chair across from her desk. She stands awkwardly for a moment before sitting in the one next to him, rather than across the desk.

 

“Jug… what’s going on?” She says, carefully, watching him closely. He’s looking back at her, but his body is tense in a way that puts her on edge.

 

He shrugs, then looks away. “I turned in my final portfolio this morning.” He says, and she bites her lip. It’s not exactly an answer, but her question wasn’t very specific to begin with, she supposes.

 

“Are you pleased with it?”

 

He sighs, flicking his eyes towards her, then back up to the ceiling. “I guess. I feel good about the stories. It’s the degree itself that’s throwing me for a loop.”

 

“I’m… not quite following.”

 

He looks back at her, with a small smile, and shakes his head. “That’s because I’m not making sense. Look, I turned in my portfolio and realized that getting my degree this weekend isn’t going to magically make my dreams come true. So I sat down and I tried to think about what I _really_ wanted, I mean, underneath all the poor-kid fantasies of financial security and shit.” He broke off, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to respond, so she waited quietly as he gathered his thoughts. “Anyways, I just want to help the community that helped me. I wanna help Tess and the B&G and the little corner of Brooklyn that had my back more times than I can count. And since that’s what your project has become about, I want in.” He says it casually, like it’s logical and holds little to no weight.

 

“Jug, signing up for this isn’t just signing up to help the B&G, you know that, right? You’ll be the cover star. There’ll be a whole spread on you, and your relationship with the B&G, and probably with the Serpents. If you aren’t ready to get into all of that…”

 

“Betty, I trust you to use the _Quality_ platform for the right reasons. If my story of being a pretentious young emo thrown into gang life is the way to do that, then so be it.”

 

That gave her pause. Jughead seemed to think so little of his past, gave it almost no significance in his mind. But from what he’d told her (and what she’d read in the backlogs of The Brooklyn Local), he’d given almost everything to the Serpents, and to South Brooklyn, and now he wanted to give _more_.

 

“I don’t want you to commit to this unless you’re absolutely positive…” she started, but cut herself off at Jughead’s eyeroll.

 

“I’m absolutely positive, okay, Betts? I’m an adult man who is freely giving you the right to take pictures of my face and tell everyone who cares about my childhood trauma.”  

 

“Okay.” She concedes, mostly because she doesn’t _actually_ want Jughead to take it back and leave, and because she really, truly believes that he’s the best one for the job. He was, after all, the inspiration behind the whole thing. She pauses for a moment, pulling her lip between her teeth, before giving him a smile. “I guess we can get to work, then.”

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Betty knew after only a few interactions with Jughead that she enjoyed spending time with him. He was interesting and thoughtful in a way that made her think deeper, he was kind and supportive to his friends, and he listened to whatever she had to say so intently that it made her skin tingle. Still, despite this knowledge, nothing could have prepared her for the experience of working with him on a daily basis.

 

It was Friday, they’d been working closely together since Monday afternoon and Betty had yet to feel one ounce of frustration from him, or hear him complain about the long hours even for a moment. He, it seemed, had an unending patience for the menial tasks of taking measurements, trying on clothing samples, and answering the same questions over and over again. Even Betty herself was getting fed up, but Jughead just kept his head down and did the work.

 

She could tell that he wasn’t necessarily _enjoying_ the work—she would have been more surprised if he _was_ , honestly—but he never so much as rolled his eyes, at least not in her presence. She wondered if maybe he didn’t want to make her feel bad.

 

Veronica had taken her to dinner with Cheryl the evening before, citing a desire for “girl-time”, though Betty suspects that it was all a ruse to get information on Jughead. As soon as Veronica so much as raised her eyebrows suggestively, Cheryl pounced on the insinuation and wouldn’t rest until Betty “spilled the sordid details.”

 

Unfortunately for Betty, she couldn’t _honestly_ deny that there were any details to begin with. Not that anything had happened with her and Jughead, per se, but the fact that she _wanted_ something to happen was detail enough for the two of them. Sometimes it feels like Betty is perpetually stuck in high school with the way Veronica and Cheryl carry on.

 

It, admittedly, did not take much persuading from the other two to get Betty to admit her interest in Jughead. In her defense, she truly would have to be stupid to not be interested. He was profoundly interesting, not to mention talented, and she was _definitely_ attracted to him.

 

So here she was, sitting across from Jughead at a quiet pub that she’s pretty sure is settled in the heart of Jughead’s own neighborhood, trying to ignore the echoes of her friend and cousin telling her to _go for it!!_ running through her head. Because Jughead had to work at the bookstore earlier that day they had decided to meet after his shift at the pub to talk through the actual article. He was wearing his same leather jacket, but the beanie had disappeared, and underneath the jacket was a simple white tank top, rather than his usual plaid shirt. She was trying very hard to keep her eyes focused on the plate of sweet potato fries in front of her, rather than on the smooth lines of his chest that were extraordinarily visible.

 

Jughead seems perfectly at ease, sitting casually with four different entrees in front of him. She had given him a look when he relayed his order to the waitress, but he had just winked. “ _One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well._ ” He had said with a quirk of his mouth. She adds _casually quotes Virginia Woolf_ to her list of qualities she looks for in a man.

 

When they’re mostly finished with their meal, the waitress comes back with a beer that she sets in front of Jughead with a smile. “On the house, Jug.” She says, before turning to head back behind the bar. She didn’t offer Betty a drink, which makes her eyebrows draw together.

 

“Fan of yours?” She asks, trying her best to sound casual. Upon looking up, she finds Jughead’s face somewhat flushed. She tries not to let her muscles tense as she considers the possibilities of how this girl knows Jughead. After all, she and Jughead are just working together. There’s no reason a girl _shouldn’t_ buy him a beer.

 

(Still, her stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought.)

 

“Erm, sort of. I come here a lot.” He shrugs, picking his burger back up. “Here, you have it.” He pushes the beer to her side of the table. “Anyways, have you heard back from Tess about going to the B&G?”

 

She can tell it’s a redirect, but decides to allow it.

 

“Yeah, I think I’m going to head there Monday morning. Will you be around?”

 

“Sure, if you want me to join.”

 

“Of course I want you to join, Jug.”

 

He looks up in surprise, and Betty winces at how quick her response had been. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I totally get it if you need to work at the bookstore, we can absolutely plan this around your schedule.”

 

“I’ll be around. And I want to come.” He reaches his hand across the table and taps the back of hers with two fingers. His fingers are calloused but surprisingly smooth, she adds that to the list of contradictions that she’s created to describe him. _Rough but smooth, strong but soft, angry but kind_. She wonders how many she can collect.

 

She wonders if he spends as much time cataloguing parts of her, but she doesn’t want to know the answer.  

 

His hand is gone from hers by the time her brain catches up. He’s explaining something about the neighborhood, talking about the pub as a local gathering place. The Serpents go-to, he says. She listens intently, but her gaze drifts from his face to his neck, from his neck to his arms, where he gestures wildly as he speaks.   


They’re interrupted again by a man sliding into the booth next to Jughead. He wraps an arm around him, and smiles across to Betty.

 

“Good to see you, Juggie. Brought a date along this evening, huh?” The older man winks at her, and Betty feels her face flush as Jughead laughs.

 

“Nah, Meek. This is Betty, she’s working on a sort of… community development piece for the magazine she works for.”

 

“Jughead’s being modest. I’m writing a profile on him, and on the neighborhood.” She says, taking the hand of the older man. “So if you have any stories about either of those…” Jughead’s jaw drops in offense, and Betty laughs.

 

“Oh, a _journalist_. You certainly chose the write person to research, Betty. Especially if the piece is about community.” Meek smiles broadly, but Jughead shifts in discomfort.

 

“No, no. She was kidding, Meek, you don’t need to…” He tries to elbow the man out of the booth, but Meek holds firm and cuts him off.

 

“Mr. Jones here is the reason this pub is still standing. And half the neighborhood, too. He got the Serpents together and shut down the Ghoulies, pretty much made this part of Brooklyn a safe haven for everyone. It still is, too. If you’re looking for the best thing to come out of Brooklyn, look no further than this kid right here.” He looks over to Jughead whose face is now flushed with embarrassment, and Betty’s heart contracts.

 

Meek beckons over a few more people, who are delighted to share their tales of Jughead—much to his obvious chagrin, and to her delight. She hears about the questionable drag race he took part in, the plan to patrol the area that Tess had told her about earlier. She hears about the rumble that nearly claimed his life, but led to the safety of the neighborhood. They also tell her about Jughead as a kid—the kid who threw water balloons at everyone who made fun of his little sister, and refused to eat eggs for a whole two months unless someone put green food coloring in them ( _“I was in a Dr. Seuss phase, Betts. We all have them.” He had shrugged, laughing.)_

 

She added more to her list. _Tough but nerdy, smart but reckless_.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

“So you’re some sort of local hero, then.” She says, when they finally leave the pub and he insists on walking her home (it’s only a mile away, but she doesn’t complain about the company).

 

“I’m not. I just did what I could do.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Betty smiles.

 

“Sounds like you did more than that.” She says, lightly. Jughead doesn’t respond for a moment, and her arm accidentally brushes his as they walk. She holds her breath.

 

“Look, I know this magazine thing is technically about me and I’ll be on the cover and stuff but… I’m doing it for the neighborhood. And for the kids in neighborhoods like this one who need to read about these stories and know that they’re not the only ones. I don’t want this to turn into some weird article that’s all about how I single-handedly saved South Brooklyn.”

 

“Jug…” she pauses, collecting her thoughts. She’s struck with how much Jughead is trusting her in this whole ordeal, giving her this precious gift of his _story_ , and she just wants to cup her hands around it in protection. She takes a breath. The night air is still warm, and Jughead’s arm is tantalizingly close as they walk side by side. “The magazine is creating this whole piece around you, basically. It can be whatever you and I make it into. I think it’s beautiful that this community holds so much meaning for you, and I think there are stories here that deserve to be told, but you’re still the star of the shoot.”

 

She watches as he nods, still looking straight ahead. His jawline casts a shadow onto his neck in the low light of evening, and she notes the moles that form a small triangle. Her fingers twitch with the desire to reach for them, so she stuffs her hands in her pockets.

 

“I know. I’m trying to be okay with that.”

 

“I want you to be comfortable with this, Jug. If you want to bail, you can bail. But I think we could make this into something really special.”

 

He looks at her, and his lips twitch into a slight smile. “I wouldn’t bail on you, Betty.”

 

She believes him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you were wondering, South Brooklyn is not a real place but i wanted Jug to live in Brooklyn and gotta have the Southside, you know? 
> 
> also-- the Book Loft is based on a real bookstore in my own city, all knowledge of New York geography comes from when I lived there, and there's no Archie because he genuinely just irritates me and I didn't want to have to write him (very self-serving). 
> 
> that's all for now, folks!!
> 
> on tumblr at waunderwrites.tumblr.com


	8. viii

 

 

Jughead woke up on Saturday three hours later than he usually did. He chalked it up to the sudden increase in working hours from the past week, and let himself revel in the warmth of his comforter for a few more minutes. His department graduation ceremony was that afternoon, and he was dreading the impending fanfare that surrounded such ordeals. He had already decided to skip the main commencement the next day, but cared enough for his particular program that he wanted to enjoy the smaller ceremony with his group.

 

He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at himself—as uncomfortable as he was in the spotlight, he was the one that chose to be on the cover of a nationally distributed magazine.

 

When he came home from _Quality_ on Monday and told his friends what he’d done, he was met with about as much laughter as he’d expected. Sweet Pea had been nearly in tears by the time it died down, and Toni had whipped out her camera to document both the hysteria and Jughead’s red face as he rolled his eyes continuously. She had joked she would frame them for his graduation present. (He thought it was a joke, at least.)

 

Still, even with the jokes and the ribbing, the three of them had supported him in their own way. It would be weirder, he supposes, if they _didn’t_ make fun of him.

 

He’s also trying to figure out a way to get them involved with the magazine as well, since all three of them had fought just as hard for the B&G as he had, though he hadn’t divulged that plan to either them or Betty—he’s pretty sure Betty would jump at the chance, though.

 

She had met so many people from his neighborhood last night—something he had been expecting when he took her to the main watering hole for the ex-Serpents— and she’d handled it all with the quiet grace that he’d come to know her for. When they’d parted for the evening, he found himself thanking her for her kindness, to which she had narrowed her eyes and given him a mirthy laugh.

 

_“You don’t have to thank me, Jug. You’re the one stepping way out of his comfort zone for my project.”_

 

The way she said it, _for my project_ , implied his actions where entirely motivated by his desire to help her. She’d turned red as soon as she realized her own implication, but in a way she was right. He can’t say he’d definitely have changed his mind on _Quality_ if he hadn’t gotten to know Betty.  

 

So he hadn’t corrected her.

 

Eventually he dragged himself up and into the shower, letting the water steam up the room as he hung his head.

 

However uncomfortable his ceremony would probably be, he took solace in the fact that his sister was coming into town today for the ceremony. Her finals had been a few weeks before his, but she was staying in Chicago over the summer for an internship at a neuropsychology institute. She’d managed to get just a bit of free time between the end of her semester and the job, which, according to Instagram, she had spent with her friends backpacking through the Rockies.

 

If Jughead had to rank the things in his life that he was proud of, Jellybean was number one. The only thing he would change would be how far away she is from New York, but he’s seen the distance do her so well even that is hard to criticize.

 

She had taken the news of his recent venture with _Quality_ much differently than his friends had. The phone went quiet for so long he almost thought that he dropped the call. When she finally spoke, it was tentatively.

 

_“Jug… are you sure that this magazine isn’t just looking to make a profit on your hard work?”_

 

Her point was fair, but he laughed at how similarly their minds worked. That was, of course, his initial reaction to Veronica Lodge’s offer.

 

 _“I’m sure they’re looking to make some profit, of course. But Betty—she’s the one in charge of the story—she’s been really receptive to my worries about that. And they’re doing a profile on the B &G too, really focusing on the good work already being done by community members,” _He’d said, surely.

_“And you trust them?”_

 

He shrugged, before remembering that she couldn’t see him. _“Well. I trust Betty, at least.”_

 

She had given him a little grief about that, but he couldn’t blame her. He was doing the social media age version of following Betty into fire, and it was at least 45% because of his inexplicable desire to be wherever she was. JB had spent the rest of their phone call vying for information on Betty, all while being (hypocritically) tight lipped about her own girlfriend.

 

(Not, of course, that Betty was his girlfriend. She was his friend, is all. It’s not his fault that heteronormative society had made it difficult to have male and female friendships in this day and age. Or something.)

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

After his shower, Jughead dresses in his usual outfit of dark jeans and a faded gray t-shirt, stomping his way into the kitchen as he slides his boots on. He’s greeted by his three best friends sitting at the table, which is covered in a breakfast feast for the _gods_.

 

Fangs had called off family dinner the previous evening (to the shock of all) in favor of doing a breakfast celebration on Saturday instead. It had worked out for Jughead, who wanted to take Betty to the Wyrm anyways, and the other two had been swayed by the promise of breakfast foods. The sight before him does not disappoint.

 

Stacks of pancakes are interspersed with plates of bacon and sausage, a massive bowl of biscuits sits in the center, surrounded by two different egg dishes. There’s even- Jughead notes- cinnamon rolls. He breaks out into a grin.

 

“Did I die or something? Is this heaven?” He asks, sliding into the open chair. Sweet Pea claps him on the back as Toni pushes a mug of coffee in front of him.

 

“It’s a big day, Jug. We all wanted you to know how proud we are.” She says, smiling at him.

 

“Yeah, seriously, Jones. You’ve gotta be the first kid from South Brooklyn to get a Master’s Degree.” Sweet Pea says, which makes Jughead roll his eyes but smile a little, too.

 

He’s proud of where he’s from. It was disenfranchised in every sense of the word, but the heart of the community was strong, and people looked out for each other any way they could. Any success that he has in his own life feels like a direct result of the people sitting around this table, and a handful of others, who threw their support behind him from day one and haven’t looked back.

 

So he indulges in the array before him, tells them about the lead he has on publishing his short story trilogy, and listens intently as Fangs rants about the head chef at his restaurant.

 

JB arrives as their washing up dishes, announcing her presence by barreling into their apartment and jumping on Jughead’s back with a squeal.

 

“It’s graduation day, bitch!” She yells, her long dark hair swinging into his face as she clings to him.

 

Jughead lets out a groan at the weight, but laughs as he reaches to untangle her from his body.

 

“You were definitely not this excited for my college graduation.” He says, prompting her to roll her eyes.

 

She looks different from the last time he saw her, at Christmas, a result of both the shaved side of her head and the three new piercings he counts on various parts of her face.

 

“This one is cooler! I get to meet your program instructor! And you’ve worked harder for it, don’t lie.”

 

He shrugs, but she isn’t wrong. The graduate program has meant more to him in 18 months than his four years of undergrad did, by far.

 

“You should let yourself be proud, Juggie.” She says, somewhat softly, before giving him another hug. “Come on, I wanna read some of your stories before you have to go.”

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

 

The ceremony itself is somewhat lackluster. His friends are there with JB and Tess in tow, and Wentz says some nice words about the program, a few faculty members speak, and then they’re left to mill about the refreshment table and chat with other graduates. Jughead gets roped into a few group photos with his study group (who all _promise_ to keep in touch—he’s not holding out hope), before JB wrangles him into a couple _more_ photos with her, Tess, the ex-Serpents, and every combination of those people she could think of.

 

“Memories, Jug!” She says, every time he tries to break away.

 

Tess nudges his side and laughs at him, but pulls him closer as JB directs Toni into framing her ‘perfect shot’ (an act Jughead knows is definitely driving Toni mad).

 

“This is the proudest day of my life, Jughead Jones.” She whispers to him.

 

He clears his throat, and blinks back the tears that inexplicably fill his eyes.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, Tess.” He says, and she grins.

 

After what feels like hours of photos and chatting, Sweet Pea finally steps in and corrals them all onto the subway, grumbling about how they’ll miss their reservations and he was close to fainting from low blood sugar, anyway. Jughead has never seen Sweet Pea come close to fainting, but he’s thankful for the excuse, anyhow.

 

JB spent the subway ride raving to Jughead about his professor and how he’d told her about this podcast his friend makes about the Enneagram (“ _It’s the most important personality psychoanalysis method in the field today, Jughead,”_ she’d said, when he’d asked what the hell an Enneagram was).

 

He walks behind the group as they head down the street from the station to their go-to restaurant—a Brazilian steakhouse that sold meat by the pound and plantains for days. His friends are laughing with JB and Tess, and he’s struck by how _light_ he feels.

 

“Jug!” He hears, distantly, from behind him, and turns to see none other than Betty running up to him. She immediately engulfs him in a hug, holding him firmly.

 

He’s been friends with Betty for a few weeks, worked with her every day this week, and has already spent countless hours alone in her presence, but he hadn’t really been prepared for a _hug_ from Betty Cooper. Her arms are thrown around his neck, so she has to stretch onto her toes to reach, and before he can react she’s pulling back with a smile.

 

“Congratulations!” She says, her hands still holding onto his arms.

 

He squints at her, still trying to piece together why she’d be on a dingy block of Bushwick, when he realizes he hasn’t yet said anything.

 

“Oh. Thanks, Betty. Um. What are you… doing here?” He asks, wishing there was a way to ask without making it sound like he didn’t want her here. (He always wants her close.)

 

Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops, slightly. “Oh! I thought—oh.” Her brow is furrowed, and she’s looking at him with confusion, but he can’t imagine why.

 

Suddenly, his sister comes running up from behind him.

 

“You must be Betty! It’s so nice that you were able to join us on such late notice, isn’t it, Juggie?” She asks, smiling at Betty while kicking him a little bit in the shin, and it all makes sense.

 

His incredible, smart, nosy, _busybody_ of a little sister went around him to invite Betty to graduation dinner.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m glad you could make it, Betts.” He says, smiling at her, trying to make up for his earlier reaction. It seems to work, because Betty’s smile brightens once more and she ducks her head slightly. “Um, this is my little sister, JB, who is a nuisance and a nightmare in one.” He says, smiling at JB as her jaw drops mid-handshake with Betty.

 

“He’s just hungry,” she says, not letting her smile drop. “Let’s go inside! Tess and everyone else are already in there!” She whirls around, heading in without waiting for them to follow.

 

Betty hesitates slightly, so Jughead stays where he is and smiles sheepishly at her.

 

“You didn’t know she invited me, did you?” She asked, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. He wished she would stop doing that. (Not because he was _distracted_ , he just didn’t want her to get a lip sore. He’s just looking out for her, as a friend.)

 

“Erm… no. Sorry, about JB. She can be a bit… forceful, when she gets an idea in her mind.” He sighs. “But I’m really glad you’re here, honestly.”

 

Thankfully, Betty laughs. “God, I must’ve completely freaked you out. Sorry for basically tackling you back there.” She says.

 

“No, don’t apologize. Seriously, I’m glad you’re here, Betts. Believe me.” He says, a little more firmly, as he reaches out and grasps her shoulder. She looks at him for a moment, and then nods. He lets out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding. “Alright. I hope you like Brazilian steak.” He says, tipping his head towards the restaurant.

 

He slides his arm from her shoulder down to her forearm, hyper-conscious of the lack of sleeve covering her arm, no barrier between her soft skin and his calloused hand. He lets his hand linger (just for a moment, he tells himself), but just as he begins to pull it away, she slides her own arm up to grasp his hand in hers. He’s sure his face turns bright red, but he can’t help but smile as he opens the door to the restaurant with his free hand and she walks in, their joined hands lingering just behind her.

 

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

Jughead never had the issue of ‘mixing friend groups’ that many people struggle with. For the most part, his friends have remained the same since childhood. Toni, Fangs, and Sweet Pea have been the only true constant in his life. Any other friends he may have had were nowhere near as important, and nowhere near as long-lasting.

 

As he sits around the wooden table with his three closest friends, his mentor, his little sister, and Betty, he’s struck by how seamlessly they all fit together. Betty is sitting to his left, and on her other side is Tess who has been asking excitedly about the progress of the magazine. JB is on his right, trying to explain to him (again) the benefits of knowing your ‘true personality type _’_ (when he had pointed out that he’d rather not limit himself to a label like that, she had rolled her eyes and mumbled _‘God, you’re such a four, Jug.’_ He doesn’t know what that means, but it hadn’t sounded like a compliment). He watches in his periphery as Toni leans past Tess to tell Betty a story about the B&G, and smiles as Sweet Pea tugs her back into her seat so he can tell it ‘properly’.

 

He thinks back to his last collection of short stories, the ones that earned him a slot at last weeks reading and a phone call from the editor of AGNI earlier in the week, and takes a breath. He’s focused so much on his losses, he’s barely made time to appreciate what he’s gained.

 

His fingers make a familiar twitch and he reaches into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a small notebook. Before he can forget anything, he makes a note.

 

 _Ease: A story of family, in three parts_.

 

He stuffs the notebook back in his pocket, and looks up to see Betty smiling at him, her eyebrow quirked in a question. He shrugs his shoulders, turns to listen to the dominating conversation—now Fangs’ version of said story, which Toni continuously interrupts with her own insights, and smiles.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys... i have no excuse for how long this has taken me. truly. if you're still reading this story, god help you all.
> 
>  
> 
> only two more chapters!! will it go smoothly???? only time will tell (but probably not because i live for the drama) 
> 
>  
> 
> i'm on tumblr @ waunderwrites.tumblr.com join me!! i spent like four hours figuring out the personality types of Jug and Betty so if anyone would like the run down on my results.... i could talk about psychoanalysis for HOURS


End file.
